


bring on

by self-indulgent-drivel (half_a_league)



Series: number seven, old ashe road [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Character(s) of Color, F/F, Female Friendship, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Hogwarts First Year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 74,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_a_league/pseuds/self-indulgent-drivel
Summary: Harriet Tonks wasn’t completely ignorant of her past. She knew that she used to be a Potter, that her Lily-mum and her James-dad loved her very much, that her mums had been good friends, and that her ‘Dromeda-mum and Ted-dad had taken her after her parents had died.She knew how they had died, and why, and what people were calling her, even though she didn’t like to think about it very much.And she also knew that she was supposed to be living with her aunt and uncle, but they hadn’t wanted her. And that technically (“The technical sense being the most important, when you’re trying to get out of trouble, pet,” Ted-dad always told her) her mum had stolen her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title From X Ambassador's "Torches". Source material belongs to J.K. Rowling. Not just playing fast and loose with canon anymore, but completely rewriting it. This work is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

She’d turned an ugly side table into a cradle only moments after she had swept in the door, and now the baby was lying in it, still wrapped in Andromeda’s snow-speckled coat. She was awake, fingers curling as she reached for Andromeda, but silent like a tomb. She hadn’t made a single sound, not since Andromeda had heard the whimpering and pulled open the cupboard door.

Lily’s eyes were like an accusation in that tiny, filthy face. Andromeda put her hand to her mouth and stepped away.

Behind her, a little voice said, “Mumma?”

“Go back upstairs, Dora,” Andromeda said tiredly. “It’s after your bedtime.”

“But there’s a _baby_ ,” Dora said in her bossy voice. “ _My_ baby. I want to see her.”

A bark of laughter came out before Andromeda could stop it, and she turned. Dora was pouting, and had her arms up to be lifted. Andromeda scooped up Dora, groaning exaggeratedly. “You’re getting too big for this,” she warned, but Dora only balanced herself and turned to the cradle.

“There’s your baby, then,” Andromeda said. “Want to tell me how she’s yours? You’re a little young to be a mother, love.” She tickled her side, but Dora hardly laughed.

Lily’s daughter was staring at them with those enormous eyes, a thumb tucked against her dirty cheek. Dora kicked a little, and said, “I asked Santa for a little sister, and Cousin Sirius said if I was good—and I was, Mumma! Daddy said so—he’d bring me what I wanted.”

Andromeda swallowed down a surge of bile. Damn Sirius, damn him! But Dora was too little to be told, and she adored him, and Andromeda looked down just as Dora looked up and—

She had Lily’s eyes on. The baby’s eyes.

“Mumma, I want to hold her,” Dora said and squirmed until Andromeda set her down. She reached into the cradle before Andromeda could stop her—the baby really was filthy—and grabbed at the little curled hand.

Andromeda half expected tears, or maybe more whimpering, but the baby only looked at Dora and burst into a wide, toothy grin, babbling at once, “Ba ba bababababa!”

“She’s so little,” Dora said, and wrinkled her nose. “And dirty. Santa shouldn’t have put her down the chimney.”

Andromeda laughed again, and turned away as the locks on the front door clicked open and Ted stepped in, whistling.

Ted had known she’d been looking for the baby since Lily, since Halloween. He’d been sweet and understanding, like he always was. He’d been sweet and understanding since she’d sat him down in their sixth year and said he was never, ever going to meet her parents. He’d only held her when the Howler had come on the night of their wedding, and he had been filled with astonished joy when she'd handed him Dora and her hair had turned pink. Andromeda at thirty was still sometimes making clouds of smoke when she got angry or surprised, and wondered sometimes if Ted's patience would ever run out.

Stealing a baby, no matter how righteous the theft, couldn’t garner only a raised eyebrow or a low laugh.

“Dora,” Andromeda said. “Go upstairs. Your father and I need to talk.”

Dora was pouting, wearing Ted’s face—it always gave Andromeda a shock. “Put your own face back on and go,” Andromeda said.

“Can I take my baby?” Dora asked, and gave the cradle a fascinated look. The baby was chewing on Dora’s finger, drooling and smiling.

“No,” Andromeda said. “Go upstairs and play, please. Daddy and I will come tuck you in soon.”

Dora put her own face back on, but kept Lily’s eyes. “Fine,” she said huffily, and stomped across the room.

“Hey now,” Ted called from the front hall, stopping his whistling. “Is that an elephant I hear? Because elephants don’t get Christmas presents!”

“Daddy!” Dora whinged, but Andromeda shooed her and she kept up the stairs. The baby, when Andromeda looked back, was lying silent again.

Ted was clomping around in the kitchen now—Andromeda had told him a thousand times to take his boots off if it was snowing—and she put herself between the cradle and the doorway when he appeared, mug of tea in one hand, toweling at his damp hair.

“’Lo, Andy,” he said and came across the room to give her a wintery kiss. Andromeda knew the moment he saw what was behind her, because she had to rescue his mug from spilling.

“There’s a baby,” he said, slowly, hand still at Andromeda’s waist. Andromeda tucked herself against him, sagging against his shoulder, and said, “I didn’t know what to do.”

She knew when the baby turned those enormous eyes on him because he stiffened, and said, “Andy, you _didn’t_.”

“I couldn’t leave her there,” she said, taking deep breaths. She’d been trying not to think about it; thirty was too damn old for accidental magic, but she kept almost setting things on fire. “They had her locked in a cupboard. She’s half-starved, filthy. Lily’s daughter! Her _child_!”

Her voice broke. The tea was boiling in the mug when Ted took it away and set it aside. “She told me,” Andromeda said. “Lily told me what a horrible woman her sister was, but no one would listen.”

“Alright,” Ted said gently and pulled her close. “Alright, Andy, I know. But little ears are listening.”

“Little ears can’t even talk,” Andromeda said into his shoulder. “Little ears should know a few words by now. They’ve _stunted her_.”

“Well,” Ted said. “Well.” And then he was moving Andromeda aside, tucking her out of the way so he could pick the baby up, who immediately clung to him and shoved a fist into her own mouth. They regarded each other solemnly, and after a moment, Ted sighed a little.

“I always wanted two or three kids,” he said. “And it’s no one’s fault we only have the one, Andy, that’s not what I’m saying. Only that, well, it wouldn’t be so bad to add another. It’s not like we can put her back.”

Andromeda wanted to cry, suddenly—huge bursting sobs like the ones she’d held in when the news had broken. It couldn’t be that easy for Ted, it couldn’t.

The baby made a little sound and lay her head against Ted's shoulder, her eyes slipping shut. He shifted his grip on her and said in barely a whisper, “Or that we would if we could. But this will be hard, Andy. You heard Dumbledore when they read the wills—he was very clear that Lily’s sister got the baby.”

“We’d have to hide her somehow,” Andromeda said at once. “We have no right to her, and they still haven’t caught all of the Death Eaters. She’d be in danger every moment we have her.”

“We’ll disguise her,” Ted said. “And I’ll find someone to get into the Ministry, change the papers.”

With the baby’s head cuddled against Ted's shoulder, the practiced way he held her, they could have been father and daughter. Ted's hair was curlier than the baby’s shock of black hair, and her skin was more tanned than dark, and when she was awake, no one could mistake her eyes.

And then there was the scar, running across the front of her face like a strike of lightning. Everyone would know who she was with only a glimpse; they'd plastered her stitched face across the papers after the funerals.

There was a creak on the stair, jerking Andromeda out of her thoughts. “I thought I told you to stay upstairs,” she said tiredly.

Dora's stocking feet shifted, and she said, “I _am_ upstairs.”

Ted laughed, quietly, and said, “Come down, Dora.” And when Andromeda shot him a scathing look, he added, “She might as well. This should be a family decision.”

Dora was wearing her resting face, dark like Ted, but all Andromeda's shape and Andromeda's grey eyes. She had something tucked into the pocket of her pajamas. Ted took the baby over to the sofa and sat down with her, and Dora climbed up beside him, staring at the baby. “Andy?” Ted asked, and she sighed and went to join them.

“How much have you heard, Dora?” Andromeda asked.

“That we’re keeping my baby,” Dora said at once. “Only, we have to hide her ‘cause she’s famous and bad guys like that ugly lady could find her.”

Ted looked bemused. “How d’you know she’s famous, pet?” he asked.

Dora looked put upon, and her face slid into Granny Tonks’s face. “’Cause she’s the Girl Who Lived,” Dora said. “Daddy, she’s got lightening all over her face!”

“Yes, she does,” Ted said, laughing, and Andromeda put her face into her hands.

“I _asked_ Santa for the most specialist baby ever,” Dora told them, looking pleased.

“Did you?” Ted asked. Andromeda bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Yes,” Dora said, starting to look cross. “And she’s my Christmas present. I’m not gonna let anyone take her away!”

“People are going to be looking for her,” Ted said gently. “Did you hear your mummy and me when we said that?”

“Yes!” Dora said, loud enough the baby blinked herself awake. Dora reached for her, sliding into her own face again, and Ted only hesitated a second before he passed her over. The baby already had her arms out, and Dora immediately snuggled her close.

“I can help,” Dora said. “Daddy, Mumma, really! Close your eyes and I’ll show you.” And then after a moment, added, “Please.”

Andromeda tucked her face back into her hands, feeling love for Dora bursting in her chest. Her laughing, wonderful daughter.

Dora was talking to the baby now. “You’re my baby,” she was saying. “And my mumma is going to be your mumma now and my daddy is going to be your new daddy, and everyone is going to know you’re my new baby sister and no ugly lady is looking for my baby sister. Okay, Mumma, Daddy! You can look now!”

Andromeda lifted her head up, and had to put a hand to her mouth. Dora was wearing a new face, one she hadn’t worn before, and looking very pleased with herself. It wasn’t the gentle heart shape Andromeda was used to, but more rounder, like the baby. Like James’s face. Her hair was darker now, springy coils like Ted's hair instead of the usually, wavy mess. Her skin was somewhere in between the baby’s and Ted's. And her eyes were a strange and compelling color, straddling the line between grey and green.

And Dora had her hand out and was tugging on Andromeda's sleeve. “Make my baby’s eyes more grey, Mumma,” she said. “Please, Mumma.”

Andromeda pulled her wand from her sleeve, and startled. Harriet Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, no longer had lightening branching an angry red across her face. Instead, the skin was smooth and clear.

“I don’t—” she said.

“Madame Maxillia’s Magical Coverup,” Ted said, reading the label off the little jar in his hands. “Dora, did you take this from your mum’s room?”

“Yes,” Dora said, squinting like she did when she felt guilty. “But I wasn’t stealing! I was only borrowing it.”

Andromeda adjusted her grip on the wand, and cast a gentle spell that blew like warm wind across the baby’s face. She rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists, sneezed, and looked up at them with eyes the same color as Dora's.

“Now we look more like Daddy’s family,” Dora said, grinning broadly. “And I can keep my baby.”

“Well,” Ted said, and rubbed a hand across his face. “Outsmarted by our little girl. How’s it feel, Andy?”

“Strange,” she said, feeling that same swelling of love. “But pleasant, I think.”

“It won’t be when she’s a t-e-e-n-a-g-e-r,” Ted said, laughing, “so we might as well enjoy it now. Thank you, Dora. You’ve helped a lot.”

“So we can keep my baby?” Dora asked, and hung onto Ted's arm. “And this can be my new face?”

Andromeda reached out and plucked the baby off of Dora's lap. She tickled her a little and the baby gave another enormous grin, looking up at Andromeda. Her heart was already so full with her little family, but she could feel it working frantically to make room, to tuck Lily’s daughter in next to Dora and Ted in the place of most precious things.

“Yes,” Andromeda said. “Yes, I think we can keep her.”

* * *

The third bedroom of Number Seven, Old Ashe Road, Oxford was dark and silent. Morning light flirted around the edges of the heavy curtains, casting wavering, grey shadows over the lump hidden under the bedclothes. Books rustled companionably in the two bookshelves, and a single lone Nancy Drew novel huddled half under the bed, where it had fallen in the night.

Some of the posters moved in the dim light. Some of them were tellingly still. At the foot of the metal bed crouched a battered old trunk, packed nearly to the brim. On it rested a parchment letter, addressed in green ink to the room’s occupant. and on _that_ rested a brand new wand, holly and pheonix feather. The date on the letter was circled in heavy pencil, and the calendar on the wall had been given the same treatment.

Ignorant of any significance the date—today’s date—might hold, a large and imperious cat sat in the doorway, surveying the room as a king might survey his kingdom. A socked foot reached beyond the doorway, and pushed the cat forward, no inconsiderable task considering his sheer mass, and the cat proceeded to rumble his way across the floor and onto the bed.

Any other cat might have jumped, but this cat _oozed_ right onto the bed and onto the chest of the girl sleeping there. He settled himself, and rumbled threateningly.

Not bothering to crack open an eye, Harriet Lily Asterope Potter Tonks shoved at it, mumbling, “G’way Colonel.” But the mass only seemed to get heavier, and started to prick at her with pins, right above the heart.

Groaning, Harriet peeled her eyes open and gave the enormous white cat a shove. “Dad says you aren’t supposed to open doors anymore,” she whined and groped at the bedside table for her glasses. “He said he gave you a talking-to.”

“Oh, he did,” her Mum said. “That’s why the Colonel waited very politely until I came and opened the door. Wake up now, love. I refuse to let your father make us late for an eighth year in a row.”

Harriet rubbed her eyes, and squinted. Andromeda was at the foot of her bed, laying out clothes neatly from the pilfered chest of drawers. “I’m tired still,” Harriet told her mother crossly as Andromeda waved the curtains open. The Colonel draped himself further across Harriet’s lap, and began to knead up the blanket, her pajamas, and, painfully, her stomach.

“Then you shouldn’t have stayed up late reading that dreadful book. Honestly, Ted ought to know better by now than to give you something new to settle your nerves. You only stay up reading, and wake up cross.”

The Nancy Drew book lying half under the bed edged itself fully under it, as though embarrassed.

A clean set of robes flew out of the wardrobe and folded themselves onto the tide pile. Andromeda waved her wand at the door to shut it and came and sat at the edge of the bed. “I know you’re nervous,” she said soothingly, her own knuckles white around her wand. “But your father and I have prepared for this. You don’t have to worry about anything except making friends and doing well in class.” She reached out and smoothed a finger down the line of scar that branched across Harriet's cheek. “We will take care of the rest.”

The Colonel purred loudly enough to rattle Harriet's teeth. She put her hand on his back and said, very quietly, “Everyone’s going to stare, and ask questions, and be awful, Mum.”

Harriet Tonks wasn’t completely ignorant of her past. She knew that she used to be a Potter, that her Lily-mum and her James-dad loved her very much, that her mums had been good friends, and that her ‘Dromeda-mum and Ted-dad had taken her after her parents had died.

She knew how they had died, and why, and what people were calling her, even though she didn’t like to think about it very much.

And she also knew that she was supposed to be living with her aunt and uncle, but they hadn’t wanted her. And that technically (“The technical sense being the most important, when you’re trying to get out of trouble, pet,” Ted-dad always told her) her mum had stolen her.

 _This_ was why she always had to makeup her scar and use her Tonks middle name as her first in public. But her mum and her dad had sat down with her when her Hogwarts letter had come, and they had decided together that ten years _was_ an awfully long time to hide a (technically!) stolen baby, and that having her for so long with no-one coming to look for her had set a precedent, and then her mum and dad had used a lot of very long and boring words that meant they weren’t going to make her use Asterope at Hogwarts.

So now, on the first of September, Harriet Tonks was going to go to Hogwarts where she was sure an awful lot of adults were going to be asking why her aunt and uncle hadn’t been raising her for the last ten years.

“Just remember,” Andromeda said as she stood up, “ you don’t have to say anything to them. And don’t _try_ to get into trouble. I’ve had quite enough of that with your sister.”

Harriet lifted the Colonel, struggling, and set him aside so she could stand up. “Dora _is_ coming, isn’t she?” she asked as she clattered out of her nightgown and into her clothes.

“We’ll see,” her mum said as she sailed out the door, shutting it with a snap behind her.

The problem with her mum, Harriet thought as she tugged on her blouse, was that her mum always wanted to be on time for everything, while her dad thought that schedules were things that happened to other, less distracted people.

“Come on,” Harriet said to the Colonel, ducking back in from the bathroom. “Dad’s making breakfast again—I can’t smell anything burning.”

The Colonel allowed himself to be carried, putting his paws on her shoulder and looking around as Harriet staggered down the stairs. “Honestly,” she huffed. He turned a gimlet eye toward her, and dug his claws into her jumper, but she only stared back. The Colonel had never scratched her, or Dora, not even when Dora magicked him blue, or when Harriet had toddled past as a baby and pulled his tail.

Her dad _was_ in the kitchen, standing at the stove and wielding a spatula. “It’s fine, Andy,” he was saying. “Plenty of time to have breakfast and get to the station. And I don’t see what you’re so upset about; we’ve never actually missed the train yet.”

A plate slammed down in front of Harriet. “Eat your eggs,” Andromeda told her. “And quickly. We might have to leave your fool father behind.”

Harriet hid a smile behind a forkful.

The front door creaked open and something slammed into the hallway wall with a yelp. “Am I too late!” Dora shouted. “Bloody—” Something hit the floor with a thud and several clatters. “Mum! I stepped in the umbrella stand again!”

“For the love of Merlin,” Andromeda said, and went toward the door.

Harriet cleaned off the last of her plate and offered the final bite of bacon to the Colonel, who ate it gracefully, and then began industriously cleaning his resplendent orange mustache. 

“More pancakes?” Ted asked, brandishing the griddle.

“No, thank you,” Harriet said. He went past her and kissed the top of her head.

“You’ll be growing like a weed soon enough,” he told her. “Better stock up while you can.”

“I’m fine, Dad, really,” Harriet told him, smiling.

“Go put your shoes on then, pet. I’ll come get your trunk in a minute.”

All the shoes were kept piled in the front hall. Dora was still sprawled out on the floor, trying to pull the umbrella stand off her leg. “Wotcher, Harry!” she said cheerfully. “Thought I might have missed you!”

Andromeda muttered something that sounded like, “ _Mutter mutter_ clock.”

“Wotcher, Dora,” Harriet said, smiling broadly, and helped her tug the stand off of her boot. “Mum’s threatening to leave without Dad already, and it’s only a quarter after ten. Hope you don’t want breakfast.”

Andromeda muttered something that sounded like, “ _Mutter mutter_ once _mutter mutter_ on time.”

“I ate already,” Dora said and swished her wand. “Accio Harriet's shoes!”

They flew across the hall and smacked her in the face.

“Ouch!” Dora cried. “Here, take these, are the soles made of brick?”

“If you two are done playing,” Andromeda said in her coldest voice, but Harriet thought she wasn’t really angry, just frazzled and nervous.

But she still sat down right away and tugged her shoes on.

Dora slung a companionable arm around her shoulders as she knotted the laces. “Excited about your first year?” she asked, and ruffled Harriet's hair. Her own trembled into long golden curls and black that nearly reached her waist, “When you get sorted into Hufflepuff, I’ll write and tell you where the kitchens are.”

Andromeda had finally finished gathering up the umbrellas and the shoes and the coats strewn across the hall. “And when you get sorted into Slytherin, I’ll owl you my map of the dungeons,” she said, and then shouted down the hall, “Come on, Ted! It’s already after ten! She’s not going to be able to find a compartment!”

There was a series of thumps, like something very light being dragged down the stairs, and Ted appeared in the doorway. “Didn’t want to scuff the ceiling,” he said easily and let the trunk down. “C’mere pet.”

Harriet trotted over and patiently let him smooth down her hair. It never really worked all the way, and even Dora ruffling it hadn’t changed the shape of it—messy—much. Then Ted was hugging her, and whispering in her ear, “When you get sorted into Ravenclaw, I’ll send you all my old riddle books. The knocker likes you better if you read him a few every now and then.”

“Thanks,” Harriet said and hugged him, hard.

“’Course, pet,” Ted said, and paused. “Oh, almost forgot this,” he said and he handed over her wand, which she’d left resting on her trunk. Harriet took it nervous—what kind of witch forgot her wand, nearly? She resolved to check she had it several times, just to be sure.

Ted pinched her cheek and shuffled past her to pull on his own shoes. Harriet shoved the wand into the pocket of her robes and crouched down to pet goodbye the Colonel, who rubbed against her legs, purring concussively.

“Right,” Andromeda said as she checked her watch and tucked it away. “Too late to take the Knight Bus, and it’ll be crowded to boot. We’ll have to Apparate.”

“I’ll take Harry,” Dora said at once. “I know the spot and everything, and Dad’ll look weird coming out of the ladies’ loo with her.”

“Well,” Andromeda said slowly.

“I passed my test on the first try!” Dora said. “Not even you did that!”

“Fine,” she said and came forward. She straightened the collar of Harriet's blouse and kissed her forehead. “We’ll see you at the station. Listen to your sister.”

“Ye-es, Mumma,” Harriet said and grinned at her, a familiar and toothy grin.

“Good girl,” Andromeda told her. “And go out back to the garden, Nymphadora! You _know_ Apparating in the house wears out the wards.”

“Mum! It’s Tonks now!”

“It’ll be a paddling if I catch you again, young lady! And bread and water for a week!”

Andromeda's idea of bread and water was soup and homemade, crusty loaves. Ted's idea of a paddling was a single, firm smack to the rump followed by a thorough lecture. But Dora still grabbed at Harriet's arm and hustled her to the backdoor.

The backyard was more a courtyard, with high stone walls, and beds overrun with plants. “Right,” Dora said and parked them in the middle, where there was the least chance of having to fight off the mints, or duel down the snap-dragons.

She turned Harriet so she was facing her. “Try not to sick up,” she said cheerfully. “And give us a hug. You’re _my_ baby after all. I’m only letting Mum and Dad borrow you while I’m working.”

Harriet blushed furiously, but let Dora crowd her close. “I’m eleven,” she said. “I’m hardly a babyeeeeeee!”

The last word was torn from her throat in a scream, as she and Dora were forced together through a very long and very thin tube, exploding out the other end with a noise like a firecracker, and a shrill yelp of Dora's own.

“I landed in the toilet,” she moaned. “’Course I landed in the toilet, Mum’ll never let me hear the end of this.”

“Dry yourself off,” Harriet suggested and cracked open the door of the stall. A Muggle lady was washing her hands at the sink, and stopped, dripping, to stare at them.

“And do it in the stall, Harriet squeaked, and slammed the door behind herself as she dashed out. London was right outside the doorstep, the air thick with sound and smell.

Dora caught up a minute later, shaking the leg of her trousers furiously. “Steamed myself a little,” she said. “Like a lobster. Come on, I checked the time, too. No way you’re getting an empty compartment. We’ll have to stuff you in somewhere.”

They clattered down the street and into King’s Cross Station which was crowded with lots of Muggles and more than a few witches and wizards. “Here,” Dora said and tugged Harriet to the side. “Let’s wait for Mum and Dad.”

And then she turned to Harriet and touched her shoulder. “You know we’ll be proud of you,” she said. “No matter what house you end up in.”

“Yes, Dora,” Harriet said, and gave her another hug just because she looked a little peaky.

Andromeda and Ted came cutting through the crowd not a minute later, and they shuffled over to the mass of people crowded around the pillar between platform nine and platform ten. “This the line?” Ted asked the man ahead of them companionably.

“Aye,” he said, and squinted at them.

It happened every time. Out of instinct, and habit, Harriet tucked herself closer to Dora. She’d put the cream on her scar. Dora was wearing her resting face, with the exception of her hair, which was short now, but the same yellow and black.

“Yes?” Andromeda asked archly, and Harriet let go of the breath she’d been holding. The same magic, so simple it was really a trick of the eye, was working again.

“Nothin’,” the man said. “Y’ looked familiar, is all.” He was staring at Harriet and Dora in particular. “Related to the Zabini family at all?”

“No,” Andromeda said at once. “Thank you very much.”

The man flustered and turned forward again.

“Don’t,” Andromeda told Harriet, “ask.”

Dora leaned over on her other side. “It’s an s-e-x thing,” she whispered conspiratorially, and laughed when Harriet wrinkled her nose. "Selene Zabini's a real Black Widow."

"Dora!" Andromeda hissed.

"Muuuum!"

The line shuffled forwards, and they took their turn. Harriet stumbled out onto the platform and caught the cart holding her trunk before Dora could send it careening past.

People were milling around the platform, leaning out the train windows, running down the platform, clustered in groups of chattering adults. But the engine dwarfed it all. It sat there, deliciously red and enormous, steam rising softly above the stack.

She’d seen the train loads of times before, of course. But that was different, because she’d never been _leaving_ on it, only standing sulkily on the platform, waving goodbye.

“Come on,” Andromeda said, putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing her forward. “We’ll try near the end. We should get you settled as soon as possible. It works better to make people come to you, not you to them.”

Mum hadn’t been part of the Black family for a long time, Harriet thought, but she’d never really forgotten all the stuff they’d taught _her_ as a little girl. Harriet let herself be swept along companionable, and eventually, near the very end of the train, was a nearly empty compartment. There was only three books stacked on the seat. Ted hauled Harriet's trunk up into the carriage, and stowed it with the others, just as the whistles started to blow all along the train.

“We should have come earlier!” Andromeda fretted. “There’s always a line, Ted! I keep telling you!”

“It’s alright, Andy,” he said, and tucked her under his arm. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Study!” Andromeda told Harriet, and kissed her forehead sharply.

“Explore something,” Ted told her, and hugged her tightly, before putting his arms back around Andy, who was tearing up and looking furious about it.

Dora was the last one to hug her, and she held Harriet so tightly she ached from it when she let go. “Have fun,” she told Harriet, her laughing face strangely serious. Her hair, as she spoke was spinning from gold and black to a brilliant green, the same color as Harriet's eyes on the rare occasion that her mum took the charm off of them. A bushy haired girl passing by gaped, nearly tripping as she climbed the train steps.

Harriet took Dora's kiss to the cheek patiently. “Be _safe_ ,” Dora said, and gave her a little shake. The whistles were blowing louder now.

“I love you!” Harriet cried to all of them, her heart beating very hard. She clambered up the stairs, and looked back, holding the railing so tightly it hurt. “Oh, I love you!”

They all waved, frantically, and she ducked inside, slamming the door and rushing down to her compartment. The bushy haired girl was sitting there, staring very hard at one of the books and blinking rapidly. She looked up as Harriet threw herself onto the seat, breathing hard.

She felt nervous again with that girl looking at her, but her mum was absolutely mad about manners, so she stuck her hand out and said, “Hullo.”

The girl startled, then jerked a look behind her like someone would be there. Slowly, she stuck her own hand out and shook Harriet's. “Hello,” she said in a firm, clear voice.

Harriet asked, “D’ you, do you need a handkerchief?”

“Oh!” the girl said, and Harriet though she flushed a little, but it was hard to tell because of how dark she was. “No, thank you.”

“Well, I do,” Harriet said, and dug into her pocket, where predictably there were four, all folded together. “And my mum gave be a bunch of extras, probably because she cries _every_ time. Here, take one anyway, will you?”

The girl's shoulders loosened and she took one to dab at her eyes. “Are you not a first year?” she asked after a few second full of sniffling and discreet nose blowing. She sounded a lot more comfortable when she was asking questions, Harriet thought. Nicer, and less stiff.

“No, I am,” Harriet said and shoved her handkerchief back into her pocket. “But my older sister just graduated last year and Mum’s been crying on the platform since _she_ was a first year. Dora, I mean, not my mum. Only maybe she cried then, too.”

“Who was the one making her hair different colors?” the girl asked eagerly. “I’ve never seen anyone do that before and there’s no spells to do it in our textbooks. I’ve read them through.”

And then she looked awkward, and drew into herself uncomfortably.

Oh, Harriet though. “No,” she said at once, smiling as friendly as she could. “I reckon there wouldn’t be. You’ve got to be good at Charms to do that. The one with green hair is my sister. She’s a Metamorphmagus, and they’re really rare.” And then in the persisting silence, she pressed on. “It’s wicked you’ve read the textbooks already,” she said. “My dad wouldn’t let me. He didn’t want me faffing about with my wand before school started.”

“Oh!” the girl said, and flushed harder. “My name is Hermione Granger. I’m a Muggleborn, and I’ve never even heard of magic before my letter came.”

“I’m Harriet Tonks,” Harriet said. “I’m a halfblood, but both my parts were magic. If you’ve got any questions, I could probably answer them.”

Hermione did have questions, and Harriet answered most of them, and let Hermione theorize about the ones she couldn’t, until it was afternoon. They were quite on their way to being friends, Harriet thought and felt a deep squirm of pleasure at the notion. It was hard making friends, even with the Muggle kids she’d had half days with in primary school, because she’d had to use a different name and keep so many secrets.

By the time the sweets trolley came through, they’d discovered they shared a reading taste, thought Harriet's skewed more toward adventure books and Hermione's toward non-fiction. Harriet bought a round of Cauldron Cakes and several Chocolate Frogs to share, and obligingly let Hermione study the Sickles and Knuts.

“My parents are dentists,” Hermione said, turning one of the Chocolate Frog cards around to read the front. “I’m not supposed to have many sweets, and I don’t really like them, but wizard chocolate tastes different. Sweeter. Better.” She grinned at Harriet, chocolate all across her teeth and Harriet grinned back.

And then the compartment door was sliding open without even a knock first. Three boys were standing there. The two on the sides were very tall, and one of them was rather chubby. The boy in the middle was shorter, his white hair combed back flat, and his eyes were pressed thin in a squint.

“Well,” he drawled. “People are saying Harriet Potter is on the train, but it’s clear she’s not here, isn’t it.” He raked his eyes across the both of them, and Harriet became keenly aware of the jeans she had on under her robe, peeking through at her legs, and of Hermione's bright headband, resplendent with butterflies. “She certainly wouldn’t be in with muggleborns,” he said with a sneer.

And then there was a commotion out in the hallway, and two more boys shoved their way through. They were dressed messier than the three boys, but they looked _nicer_ , Harriet thought. She’d much prefer to be invaded by them.

The blond boy looked worried, but the red-headed boy said boldly, “Anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one.”

The first blond boy wheeled around and sneered harder, until his eyes almost disappeared. “Longbottom. And red hair, shabby clothes? Must be _another_ Weasley.”

“Oi!” the red haired boy said. “Shove off. You’re obviously a Malfoy. No one else would look like they’re smelling something nasty all the time.”

The first blond boy gave a shriek, and a furious scuffle broke out. Hermione tucked her feet up on her seat and looked interested, but Harriet dug her wand out of her pocket and send a barrage of sparks at the five of them.

They didn’t catch anything, only singed bits of hair and robes. The boys broke apart, all of them shouting, but there were hurried feet coming down the hallway towards them.

“What! Is going on here!” another, older boy with red hair and Gryffindor robes demanded, hauling the two boys out by their shoulders.

“They were fighting,” Hermione piped up. “In our compartment, and none of them even knocked!”

“Ron!” the older boy said with a groan. “You haven’t even been sorted yet, and you’re already lighting things on fire?”

“I lit them on fire!” Harriet said, and tucked her wand away, feeling very satisfied. Her dad had been right, using warning sparks _did_ help when there was trouble.

“Well,” the older boy said and stopped. “I _know_ you,” he said, as another boy crammed himself past the other first years in the hallway. This one had on yellow-edged robes, and grinned through his missing front teeth at Harriet. “Tonks, right?” he said companionable, and dragged out the last first year.

“Don’t want to get on the wrong end of _that_ wand,” the Hufflepuff boy told the Gryffindor. “That’s Nymphadora Tonks’s sister, Percy, and a crack addition to Hufflepuff soon as we get a hat on her head." He winked at Harriet, and shuffled the Gryffindor prefect out too as he groaned, “Yardley, you can't say that! That’s _favoritism_!”

“No fighting on the train!” the older redhead finally yelled and let himself be pushed into the hallway. The Hufflepuff, Yardley turned back, the door almost closed, and asked, “Anything else, little Tonks?”

“One of them lost a toad,” Hermione said imperiously before Harriet could say anything. And then, when he paused in the door, “Good _bye_.”

The boy laughed and shut the door, then dragged off the sulking boys toward the front of the train.

“Honestly,” Hermione said. “Boys are more trouble than they're worth.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Great Hall was beautiful, all awash with candlelight and the reflected glow off the dozens and dozens of goblets and plates. Hermione was holding Harriet's hand tightly, her grip damp with sweat. “We’ll still be friends,” she was muttering to herself, reassuringly. Harriet squeezed her hand back and nodded encouragingly as they shuffled with the rest of the first years up the hall.

Professor McGonagall turned back, and they all tried to straighten themselves into a neater line. Then she set down the stool she was carrying, and put the raggedy hat onto it, where it—

Opened its mouth, and sang a song about the school. Harriet hummed along a little, and relaxed as it ended. She was going to hex Dora across the room. Telling her it was fighting a dragon indeed!

And then Professor McGonagall unrolled the scroll and started reading off the names. “Abbot, Hannah!” she called, and a girl with tight pigtails shuffled forward and was promptly sent to a roaring Hufflepuff.

Harriet was sweating, and felt terribly cold. It was massively unfair, she thought, that she had to worry so much about _which_ name was on the scroll. Her letter had said Tonks, but they were expecting a Potter, too, and what if she got called twice? It would be mortifying, she thought.

And then the professor was calling, “Granger, Hermione,” and Harriet found something else to worry about.

The hat was on Hermione's head a long time, before it shouted “Gryffindor!” Hermione slipped off the stool, and trotted over the table, where she sat with her eyes locked on Harriet's. It was unnerving, like being stared at by the Colonel when he was mad, and Harriet looked away. She watched as the second blond boy, “Longbottom, Neville,” got sent to Gryffindor too, and the nasty boy, “Malfoy, Draco!” was sent to Slytherin.

And her name was creeping closer, as Parkinson, Patil and Patil, and Perks were all called. And then, nothing. A silence overtook the hall as Professor McGonagall paused and stared at the list. She adjusted her glasses, then turned the scroll over. Whispering broke out, and Harriet darted a glance to the head of the hall, where the teachers sat. Some of them were whispering too, and others looked worried.

Finally, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and called, “Thomas, Dean!”

A boy at a table nearby said in a piercing whisper, “Where’s Potter?”

“Isn’t Harriet Potter supposed to come this year?” a girl near him demanded, a little louder.

It was picked up across the hall, passing from table to table, and the boy on the stool squirmed in embarrassment. Finally, Professor Dumbledore, Harriet knew him right away from the bright robes and the long beard, said, “Silence, please.”

The boy was pronounced Gryffindor and pulled the hat off with a look of deep relief.

And then Professor McGonagall, looking cross now, said, “Tonks, Harriet,” and Harriet felt herself go icy cold. She padded across the floor, feeling everyone staring at her as a tiny boy at the Ravenclaw table asked loudly, “Is that her?”

“It can’t be, there’s no scar,” a prefect sitting next to him said, and then quavered under Professor McGonagall’s fierce glare.

The hat descended, and Harriet jumped as a sly voice said in her ear, “Now, now, that was quite a trick.”

Harriet squirmed, and flushed. “No need to be shy,” the hat told her. “No one’s gotten one over Minnie McGonagall in many years. I rather enjoyed the show.”

It didn’t seem right to say thank you so Harriet only bobbed her head, the brim of the hat slipping over her eyes.

“Well, onto business, Miss Harriet Asterope Potter Tonks,” the Sorting Hat said. “Where shall I put you? Plenty of courage, a good mind, plays well with others. Ah, all you’re missing is a spark of ambition. Well, there’s a good balance of the other three.”

And then he paused. Harriet gripped the edge of the stool and tried not to think it, but—

“There it is,” he said slowly. “There is a certain sense of ambition there, but it’s rather…hmm.”

“Want to be like your parents, do you?” he asked. “The late ones, of course.”

He waited, apparently, for her answer.

Harriet shut her eyes in the musty darkness. She thought about her James-dad and Lily-mum sometimes, thought they were mostly shadowy figures in her head. Andromeda-mum didn’t have a lot of pictures of them, and didn’t want to risk asking around for more. But yes, she thought about them, and felt, well, longing. She thought.

“Yes, please,” she whispered very quietly.

“Then it had better be… _Gryffindor_!” the hat roared and as Professor McGonagall pulled it off her head, she thought it whispered, “Good luck, girl. And well done.”

And then she was tripping over the Gryffindor table and Hermione was scooting over to make room. “I knew you’d be here,” she whispered to Harriet over the smattering of dull applause. “Cursing those boys like that.” She sounded disapproving, but grinned a little, like she couldn’t help it.

And then Professor McGonagall was reading through the rest of the list, and Weasley, Ronald joined them, then finally a fabled Zabini slunk his way over to the Slytherin table. Professor McGonagall was rolling up the scroll now, and taking the stool and hat away, and everyone quieted down as Dumbledore stood up.

He beamed at them, his arms wide open, looking truly pleased to see them.

“Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we have our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

And then he sat back down, to a rousing roar of cheers and clapping. Harriet wrinkled her nose. Her mum talked about him like he was an awful man, and her dad didn’t like to talk about him at all—he had been the one to put Harriet with her aunt. But Dora talked about _everything_ with Harriet, and she had never said Professor Dumbledore was mad!

And then there was food, blooming in the great serving platters across the tables, and Harriet was busy with eating until she was so full it ached. And then she had to find room for dessert, and as she reached for the treacle tart, she glanced up at the staff table.

There was a man there in all black, like a giant and furious crow, sitting next to man with a turban. The crow man was scowling, and staring right at her. Harriet's scar burned, and she hissed as she clapped a hand to it, dropping the treacle dish.

Four hands shot out to catch it. They were attached to two red-haired wizards with bright grins. Harriet blinked, but the double-sight didn’t go away. They were twins! “Careful there,” one told her. “You have to mind your manners—”

“—or else Professor McGonagall will try and curse them into you!” the other said, and served her a hefty portion of tart with a wink. “Eat up!” he advised, and Harriet, blushing, stuck her fork into her mouth.

When she chanced another glance at the man, he was looking away and her scar felt fine. “Harriet,” Hermione asked, and she was drawn away into conversation.

And then finally dinner was all the way over, and they rose to leave the hall. Hermione had her thinking face on. Harriet was delighted to realize she already knew what the scrunched nose and puffed cheeks meant. “Thinking about what Dumbledore said? About the third floor?” she asked companionably.

“Yes,” Hermione said absentmindedly. Harriet steered her out of the way of another first year, and Hermione shook herself. “Never mind,” she said, and they trotted along after Percy Weasley, up to the Gryffindor common room.

No one had ever told her what it was like in there. Harriet gave the tapestries and soft looking chairs a wondering glance. Had her mum liked to sit there and study? Or maybe her dad made mischief in this very spot?

And then they were going up to the girls’ dorms, and something her mum had told her once struck Harriet at once. they'd been doing arithmetic, and counting by sevens, and her mum had used Hogwarts as an example, and—

“Wait!” she cried as the other Gryffindor girls made to pick beds. “Please,” she added softer, and blushed.

“What is it?” Parvati Patil asked. Lavender Brown looked at her curiously.

Harriet blushed harder, knowing miserably she was so red they could see it. “This is my mum’s dorm,” she said. “And she carved her name into her bed. Please, can I look for it before anyone picks theirs?”

Lavender and Hermione looked baffled, but Parvati stared at her with wide eyes. “Did she—” she asked, and swallowed loud enough that they could hear it.

“In the war,” Harriet said, lifting her chin.

“Oh,” Parvati said, and then, “Where’d she carve it?”

“Underneath,” Harriet said, “so no one would find it.”

Parvati gave the beds a speculative look, and dropped down on her knees next to the nearest one. “I’ll look under this one!” she said, and gave Lavender Brown a hard look.

“OH!” Lavender said, and dashed over to a bed. And then they were all looking, and luck was on her side, because the one by the window, which Harriet had squirmed under without a thought about the dust, had Lily written on it in a broad and swooping hand.

“This one says Marlene,” Parvati announced.

“I’ve got Dorcas!” Lavender cried.

“This one says Mary,” Hermione said, and Harriet heard, as if in a dream, the rustles as they crawled back out.

She reached up, and touched the letters, sunk deep into the wood. “Harriet?” Hermione asked, the edges of her shoes visible.

“This one is my mum’s” Harriet said softly, and slid herself out from underneath.

Parvati and Lavender were already dragged the trunks across the floor. “I want Mary,” Parvati said. “She sounds nice.”

“I’ll take Dorcas,” Lavender announced. “I read a romance novel with a Dorcas once, and she knew all the good curses. Here, Hermione, have Marlene. It’s right next to Harriet's.” and then they dragged Harriet's battered trunk to the foot of Lily’s bed.

“There,” Parvati said, standing back with her hands on her hips. She smiled at them broadly and dusted off her hands, turning to Lavender and chattering again as thought she’d been happy to do it.

Harriet let her thank you die on her lips. She thought Parvati already knew.

And then there was the scramble to have a wash and put on pajamas. Harriet was last, scrubbing off the cream on her scar and hurrying back to bed before anyone could see. She lay back in her mum’s bed, and took off her glasses, tucking them next to her wand on the night table. The lamps were all off, and Parvati was snoring very softly. Lavender’s curtains were shut.

Very softly, from the bed next to hers, Hermione whispered, “Harriet?”

“Yeah?” Harriet whispered back.

“I thought you said you live with your mum,” Hermione said, like a question.

Feeling very sleepy, Harriet whispered back, “My ‘Dromeda-mum. My Lily-mum died in th’ war.”

“Oh,” Hermione said wonderingly, but Harriet was already falling asleep.

She slept deeply, and woke with a startle as Lavender’s alarm clock went off with a shriek.

“Shut it off,” Parvati moaned. Harriet agreed with a grumble, but was already prying herself out of bed. She wanted breakfast, and to send a letter to Dora, and she stumbled into the bathroom and started to brush her teeth at one of the sinks.

Hermione shuffled in not long after and picked up her hairbrush absentmindedly. And then she looked in the mirror, and met Harriet's eyes, and dropped it again.

“What?” she said around the toothbrush and glanced into the mirror herself. Her hair was a mess, but it was _always_ a mess.

“Your face,” Hermione whispered.

Harriet looked into the mirror again, and realized. She spat into the sink, and started rinsing her toothbrush determinedly. Her mum always said it didn’t have to be a big deal, and Harriet wasn’t going to _let_ it be.

“It’s just a scar,” she said, trying to sound offhand. “I’ve had it since I was little. I’ve got cover-up I usually wear, only I haven’t put it on yet.

Hermione was staring at her still. “It’s really shaped like lightening,” she said very softly. “Real lightening. They never said.”

“Who said?” Harriet asked and gave up the thought of brushing her hair. She raked her fingers through it and gave it a shake. That, she figured, was as good as it would get.

“The books!” Hermione hissed. “The books you’re in! I read all about you defeating You-Know-Who! You never _said_ you were Harriet Potter.”

“I’m Harriet Tonks,” Harriet said firmly, and reached for the cream. She put a little on her hands and worked it in quickly, until that stupid scar was all but gone. “My mum’s Andromeda Tonks and my dad’s Ted Tonks, and they raised me, so I’m _their_ daughter, too.”

Hermione was frowning, but she didn’t look angry anymore.

“Nobody ever listens to _that_ part,” Harriet said, ignoring the part where no one had ever known to ask. She met Hermione’s eyes. “Or about how I loved my first mum and dad, too, but if I use their last name everyone stares or goes over all weird.”

“Hmph,” Hermione said, and started to drag her brush through her hair. Then she shot a look at Harriet and asked, “Is there anything else you _didn’t_ tell me?”

“I’ve got two middle names,” Harriet said. “Only one is awful, and my mum made me let everyone call me that because she didn’t want everyone to stare and all.”

Hermione looked at her again and set her brush aside. “Well,” she started, but Harriet scrunched her nose up and figured she had better come clean all the way.

“And my mum stole me as a baby,” she added, “and that’s why no one knows my other last name. ‘Cause they didn’t want to get caught and lose me. Those people who had me were _awful_. Only now everyone’s going to find out so my parents can sue for real custody.”

Hermione stared, and then let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh, Harriet,” she said. “That wasn’t in any of the books. That’s mad. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Harriet said. “I reckon the teachers are going to figure it out soon. If they take me out of class, can I borrow your notes? You probably take crack notes.”

Hermione laughed again, a little wetly, and went and hugged Harriet. Harriet hugged her back. “We’re still friends,” Hermione said in her ear. “And I won’t tell Lavender and Parvati.”

And then she pulled away again, and offered Harriet her pinky finger. “Promise,” she said again.

As Harriet clambering into her robes, she couldn’t stop smiling. She thought maybe Hermione was her _best_ friend now.

Parvati and Lavender were awake now, but taking so long getting ready that they told Hermione and Harriet to go to on without them, so it was just the two of them trooping off down to the Great Hall. Hermione was chattering nervously about classes, and Harriet was humming at the right times and studying the paintings they passed when they caught up with two familiar other boys.

They were the boys who had tried to fight Malfoy and Harriet went right over to them. The red-head eyed her warily, but shook her hand readily enough. “Harriet Tonks,” she told him. “Girl who set you gits on fire.”

“Ron Weasley,” he said and grinned. “Git who punched Malfoy.”

Harriet shook Neville's hand too, though he went pale and didn’t say anything. Hermione was then introduced all around, without much fanfare, and then the four of them went clomping down to breakfast together.

As they were going, they passed two Professors, Professor McGonagall and the crow man, arguing sharply with each other in hissing whispers. “Move along now,” Professor McGonagall told them firmly when they stopped to stare, but the crow man only glared at them, his eyes lingering on Harriet.

“Great bloody bat,” Ron extolled as they settle at the Gryffindor table. “The twins warned me about him.”

“Who?” asked Harriet, spooning some eggs out for Hermione, who was down the table scavenging a plate of fruit.

“Professor Snape, he teaches Potions,” Ron said. “That bloke with Professor McGonagall. He’s a right creep and hates Gryffindors to boot.” Neville, sitting next him, dropped his spoon and squeaked nervously.

“I’m sure none of the professors actually _hate_ any of the students,” Hermione said as she returned. “Maybe he’s just not a morning person.”

Ron made a face at her. “He’s not an _anything_ person,” he said.

Harriet, thinking about the pricking in her scar, shoveled some eggs in so she wouldn’t have to comment.

Finally, the other first years drifted in and sat down to eat, and Professors McGonagall and Snape came into the hall. Harriet ducked her head but Professor Snape went right to the Slytherin table without even glancing at them. If only Professor McGonagall had done the same, Harriet thought, because she came right over and started handing out pieces of parchment.

“These are your schedules,” she told them severely. “Commit them to memory, because they will inevitably get lost.”

Ron already had his, and he groaned and whispered to Harriet, “Potions first thing. That’s awful.”

Professor McGonagall was holding out Harriet's now, and she reached out to take it but the professor wouldn’t let go. She stared straight at Harriet and said in a dry voice, “My, what unusual eyes, Miss Tonks.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harriet said. “My mum gave them to me.”

Finally the professor let go of the parchment and Harriet tucked it away. She was the last of the first years to get her schedule, and Professor McGonagall, after one last lingering stare, left and went down the table to the next clustered group of students.

“Well,” Ron said around a mouthful of sausage, “that was pretty weird.”

Hermione was staunchly staring away from him. She made a furious noise at the back of her throat. “What?” Ron demanded.

“ _Some_ people don’t want to look at your half-masticated food, Ron Weasley!” she said. “Come on, Harriet, are you done? We should go get our Potions books.”

Harriet shot a look between them and scrambled up. “Yeah.” She said, making a face at Ron, which he returned with equal enthusiasm.

Climbing back down the stairs again, loaded down with textbooks and parchment and quills and ink and having three times checked that her wand was in her pocket still, Harriet decided she was nervous. “Dora's told me all about Professor Snape,” she said to Hermione. “She made him sound like a right trial. Didn’t believe her that he looked like _that_ , though. Anyways, it’s awful, ‘cause I love potions.”

“Really?” Hermione asked. “When I was reading through the textbook, I thought it sounded rather like cooking.” Her tone said exactly what she thought about cooking, and Harriet grinned.

“It is, only I’m not bad at potions,” Harriet said. “My mum’s awful, too, and only Dora can really get by. Mum figures it’s like,” and here she pitched her voice lower, and carefully enunciated, “the genetic memory of eight plus generations of useless nobility.” She went back to her regular voice, grinning at Hermione's gaping. “She reckons I might grow out of it, but Dad’s banned me from using the range.”

“You’re a good mimic,” Hermione said at last.

“I can only do voices,” Harriet said. “Dora can do the whole thing. She turned into Dad once and Mum didn’t notice for nearly a quarter hour.”

They were coming down into the dungeons now, padding along the darkening corridors. “I asked Percy Weasley how to get to the Potions room, and I’m positive he said it was this way,” Hermione said, marching along.

Harriet hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and tried not to fall behind. “Maybe we should have waited for the other first years,” she said. The only light now were the torches burning in smoky puffs along the walls. Something nearby dripped.

Hermione huffed, and led them further on, until there were only spots of light in the darkness. Even the torches couldn’t make the deep pools of shadow disappear completely.

“If we’re late, Snape’s going to take a million points from Gryffindor,” Harriet hissed, feeling along with a hand on the wall from torch to torch. “You heard what he’s like!”

A door creaked open out of the lingering gloom. “That is _Professor_ Snape to you, Tonks,” a deep and menacing voice said.

Hermione squeaked and bumped back into Harriet, who grabbed her arm to keep from over-balancing. A hooked nose emerged from behind the doors, followed by Professor Snape. 

He glared down at them, black eyes glittering in the torchlight. “What,” he drawled, “exactly are you doing here.”

It was flat, like a statement. Harriet gripped Hermione's arm tighter. “We were just trying to find the Potions classroom,” Harriet said, staring past him instead of at him. “Sir.”

He shifted. She went a little cross-eyed trying to see his expression out of the corner of her eye.

“Wipe that look off your face,” he said. “Five points from Gryffindor. You will look at me when you speak to me, _Tonks_.”

Hermione made a strangled noise. Harriet clutched at her tighter and miraculously, she didn’t say anything. “Yes, sir,” Harriet said, and shifted her eyes a little closer. He was scowling, his arms crossed, and glared back at her.

“You are far deeper in the dungeons than the Potions classroom,” he informed them. “So deep, perhaps, that I might accuse you of spying. Or _looking_ for trouble. How…expected of one with your family.”

Harriet didn’t say anything. She met his eyes, and felt a strange pressure in her head, building until her eyes watered and she had to look away. Dully, in pain branching all across her face, her scar ached.

“Five more points for insolence,” Professor Snape said. “And detention tonight for disobeying a teacher. Return down this corridor, the both of you and wait outside the _actual_ Potions classroom. Do _not_ return here again.”

“Yes, sir,” Harriet said and turned around, itchy tears starting streaming down her face. She dragged Hermione with her, nearly running, until there were windows again instead of torches, and light bloomed across the grey stones. There _was_ a door set into the stone, the same worn grey that nearly blended in. Harriet stopped running, and leaned against it, bringing her fingers up and feeling carefully across her face.

“Harriet?” Hermione asked. “Harriet, are you all right? We’ll go to Professor McGonagall right after class. He can’t do that!”

The pain was fading. Harriet scrubbed her sleeve over her face and put her glasses back on. “Is my scar still covered?” she asked in a nervous whisper.

“Yes,” Hermione said after a moment of close consideration. “Are, are you alright?”

“Fine,” Harriet said. “Only I s’ppose he’s figured it out already, about my other mum and dad.” She looked both ways, just to make sure, but there was no one else there yet. “My mum says Snape hated my first dad in school. My Lily-mum told her ‘bout it.”

“Well, that still doesn’t give him the right to be so awful to us,” Hermione said. “Detention on your first day! Oh, it’s so unfair.”

“It’s fine,” Harriet said. “My sister’ll be mad I broke her record, is all. My parents will understand.”

“Still,” Hermione insisted.

There were chattering voice coming down the corridor towards them now. A handful of their year mates were turning the corner.

“It’s fine,” Harriet said. “Really.”

“Fine,” Hermione grumbled.

The other people turned the corner and revealed themselves to be the Slytherin first years.

“Oh no,” Hermione whispered. “He’s not really going to make us take Potions with _them_ , is he?”

Draco Malfoy was leading the pack, and he sputtered to see them standing there. They stared each other down, and Harriet nudged herself in front of Hermione. If curses started flying…

But he only put his nose up and turned away, telling the other Slytherins loudly, “And my father said that first years _always_ had Potions on Friday. It’s a horrendous breach of tradition and I’ll _certainly_ be writing to him about it.”

A girl hanging nearly off his arm giggled shrilly and shot Harriet and Hermione a poisonous look, as if it was _their_ fault Potions was on a different day. Harriet wrinkled her nose back, wishing she could do like Dora did and make a really horrific face. All tall, stocky girl saw her, and stuck her tongue out.

But before anyone could say anything else, there was a rumble of noise and the Gryffindor first years shot around the corner, all of them red-faced and out of breath.

Ron was leading the pack, and he startled when he saw them. “How’d you figure out how to get here?” he demanded. “We ended up on the grounds. These bloody tunnels go on forever!”

“Good directions,” Harriet said, and straightened up, tugging her robes into place. Hermione was squinted at her watch, and looked up to mouth, “Five past”.

And as she did, the heavy grey door swung open ominously. Harriet leapt out of the way to the sound of several giggles, but any laughter died in the face of Professor Snape, who leveled them all with a flat stare and said crisply, “In.”

They shuffled into the room in a ragged clump. Hermione seemed like the type who would take a seat near the front, but she shot a worried look at Harriet and steered them to a desk squarely in the center of the Gryffindor’s chosen side.

Harriet settle in and looked around with interest. She thought that the classroom would be a lot more intriguing if Snape hadn’t been there; there were all kinds of interesting jarred specimens on the walls. A cauldron in the back of the room bubbled and steamed menacingly.

And then the door was slamming shut and Snape stalked to the front of the room, his robes billowing. Harriet chewed the nib of her quill and wondered what spell he used to get them to look like that. And then he opened his mouth and started lecturing.

Afterward, crouched tightly on her stool with a practiced hand stretched out to keep Hermione from falling over, Harriet thought that she was _never_ going to mention Potions class to her mum. The explosions as she tried to kill Snape would be amusing, but Harriet thought that the Ministry surely wouldn’t let a murderer have custody of her.

As they were passing out of the classroom, tagging after the other first years, Snape moved between them and the door. “Six o’clock,” he told her flatly. “Do _not_ be late, Tonks.”

“But Professor,” Hermione squeaked, clutched at Harriet's hand. “That’s when dinner is.”

Snape turned his glare to Hermione, and she trembled a little. “It’s fine,” Harriet said soothingly before Snape could give Hermione detention too. “Six o’clock, sir,” she said, and tugged Hermione out of the room before steam could actually boil out of Hermione’s ears.

She was fuming in the hallway, drawing curious stares from the dawdling Slytherins as she stomped past. “It’s not right!” she kept hissing, so Harriet patted her a final time on the back and left her to it. The same Slytherin girl from before was watching keenly as Harriet hummed in all the right places, and crossed her eyes at Harriet.

Slytherin couldn’t be all that bad, Harriet thought as she grinned it with a return. Her mum had come from Slytherin, and so had some of her mum’s friends. It _had_ given the world Voldemort, Harriet thought, _and_ Professor Snape, but no House was perfect.

They tumbled out of the dungeons near the Great Hall, right in time for lunch. But Harriet wasn’t hungry—talking to Snape had taken her appetite away. She steered Hermione to the Gryffindor table and said cheerfully, “I’ll be back in time for Herbology!”

“What—” Hermione demanded, breaking off her tirade, but Harriet was already trotting away. Hufflepuff prefect Yardley was coming into the hall surrounded by a gaggle of first years and Harriet stopped him with a polite, “Excuse me?”

Two dozen eyes swiveled over to her. Yardley bounced excited and asked, “Yes, little Tonks?”

“How do you get to the Owlery, please?” she asked.

Yardley squinted at her. “I probably shouldn’t tell you!” he said. “After betraying us and going to Gryffindor like that.”

There was scandalized whispering among the first years. Finally, several hands pushed a thin, pale-faced girl forward. “Um,” she said in a high, sweet voice.

“Yes, my child?” Yardley asked, still squinting at Harriet.

“Um,” the girl said again. There was furious whispering behind her. A girl with tight pigtails said, “Come on, Sally,” in an encouraging tone.

“Professor Sprout said prefects are supposed to be nice to everyone!” the girl said in a rush, and tried to shove herself back into the group.

Yardley blinked. “Right,” he said. “Riiight! She did say that. You’ve passed my evil test, younglings.” He winked at Harriet and steepled his fingers together. “For the Owlery to get—” he started.

“And Professor Sprout said you weren’t supposed to give us directions in rhyme anymore!” one of the boys said quickly.

Yardley pouted. “Well fine,” he said. “Take the main staircase up to the fourth floor, and there’ll be a passageway going to the West Tower,” he told Harriet. “Pass the Charms corridor, do not collect two hundred pounds, et cetera. Now, scram. I have to teach these poor, deprived children a sense of _fun_.”

The children shivered, like they had already encountered too much fun, and were not looking for more. Harriet gave them a sympathetic glance as she went past. And then she was climbing up the stairs, and had to haul herself out of the trick stair. She grabbed at the banister, and someone took her other arm, and she pulled free with a squeak.

It was the pale girl from earlier. “I—” she said. “Um,” she said. “Letter?”

“Have to post one?” Harriet asked, and peered back towards the entrance to the Great Hall. Yardley was standing there, and he waved his hands at them. “Get on with it!” he called faintly.

“We’d better go,” Harriet said. “Or he might decide to go with us.”

The girl turned paler. “Come on,” Harriet said. “I’m sure between the two of us, we can find the way.”

They climbed up the stairs, passing more students as they went. Harriet was chewing her lip, thinking about her letter. Should she add something about Snape? Should she mention what she’d told Hermione? She had already written that she’d made friends with her.

An older boy went rushing past, his face red, and knocked into the girl. Sandy? Sarah? She spun against the handrail and clutched it, hissing in discomfort.

“Hey!” Harriet snapped, indignant. He turned back, face confused. Harriet, straightening the girl up, said, “You ought to apologize! And watch where you’re going!”

The boy went redder. “Sorry,” he said, panting, and turned and flew down the next set of stairs.

“Maybe Hermione's right,” Harriet said, tugging the girl’s robes into place again. At the girl’s confused look, she added, “Boys are more trouble than they’re worth.”

The girl laughed, then frowned. “Sorry,” Harriet said, feeling embarrassment creeping up, and turned to climb the last set of stairs.

The Owlery was colder than the rest of the castle, and smelled strongly. Harriet dug her letter, and a quill out of her bag and added a quick last line to her letter. _And I got a detention with Snape, he really is foul why didn’t you warn me more about him._  
She sucked the end of her quill thoughtfully. _And my new friend likes my scar you kno which one and said she isn’t gonna tell anyone._ She scanned the rest of the letter, and squinted. _Love you Dora also please tell dad to send me my Nancy Drew book the one under the bed I didn’t finish it._

She waved the letter to dry the ink, and folded it up, smoothing out the crumples. The pale girl was looking at the mass of school owls with dismay, her lower lip trembling. Harriet, with her hand stuck deep enough in her bag that she touched the bottom seam, ducked her head and scrounged harder. But there was only one owl treat lurking in the bottom.

She snapped it in half and went over. “Here,” she said, offering half to the girl. “Just watch me and do what I do.” And then she whistled, piercingly, to get some attention, and tossed the treat in the air.

A barn owl with a quizzical expression swooped down and snatched it up, then settled itself onto Harriet's arm. “Hello,” she said, crooning, and pet at the smooth feathers. The owl hooted. Harriet held out her letter, rolled up tight, and the owl took it in a delicate claw.

“Dora Tonks at the Aurors’ Hall, please,” Harriet said. The owl hooted again, bit at her glasses, and Harriet flung her arm. Soon it was just a speck out the window, nearly disappearing into the building clouds.

The other girl still looked intimidated. “It’s alright,” Harriet said. “Here, roll it up first, and remember to keep your arm out after you throw, or it’ll perch on your shoulder and mess up your robes.”

Soon, another owl was acquired, and Harriet wandered away so she wouldn’t overhear the whispered instructions. She stood at one of the lower windows, and the girl joined her as the second owl flew out. “Thank you,” she said in a mumble, but when Harriet looked, her eyes were wide and shining.

“You’re welcome,” Harriet said warmly. “Want to go back to the Great Hall with me? There’s sandwiches, I bet.”

The girl nodded, then flushed. Harriet waited patiently as she swayed for a moment and burst out, “Who are you? Um.”

Harriet laughed and held out her hand. “Harriet Tonks,” she said, and they shook.

“Sally-Anne Perks,” the girl whispered. “Only, um, only. Please don’t call me Sally.”

“’Course,” Harriet said. She understood exactly how complicated names were, especially your own. They shared a smile, and turned toward the stairs.

* * *

“But are you sure?” Hermione asked for the hundredth time. “Professor McGonagall _has_ to be at dinner. And I don’t mind—”

“Really, Hermione,” Harriet said, hands stuck under the freezing water, scrubbing dirt out from under her nails. “I’m really, really sure. _I_ don’t mind either.”

“But you missed almost all of lunch!” Hermione despaired. The loo echoed the last word back at them.

“I had a sandwich,” Harriet said firmly. “And anyways, it won’t be _that_ bad.”

A toilet flushed loudly, and the stocky Slytherin girl came out to the sinks. “Come on, Granger,” she said with some humor. “You’re bleating like a sheep. Professor Snape isn’t going to _eat_ her. He’s nice enough bloke.” She wrinkled her nose up and added, “To us Slytherins anyway.”

Harriet watched this new development with interest. Hermione was frowning aggressively at the girl. “I don’t recalling asking you, Bulstrode,” she said with her nose half in the air. “This is a private conversation.”

“Then don’t have it in a public loo,” Bulstrode. “ _Honestly_ , Granger.”

“Oh! Oh! You—” Words seemed to escape her. Hermione stamped her foot and whirled toward Harriet. “Are you done washing your hands yet? It’s nearly six. You _cannot_ be late.”

“The loo’s close enough to the dungeons,” Harriet said, but shut off the tap obligingly and shook water droplets from her fingertips. “Bye, Bulstrode.”

They both made faces at each other in the mirror until Hermione, huffing, dragged Harriet away. Harriet wanted to ask when Hermione had met Bulstrode, and why she seemed to dislike her so much, but there was no time.

Hermione couldn’t go to detention with her, no matter how much she protested, so Harriet was alone when she peered past the bend in the corridor. The Potions classroom was all shut up. She crept to the door, feeling her hands coming over damp and clammy, feeling her heart starting to beat faster. The sneering way he said Tonks, did he know?

Her knock was small but it still echoed through hallway. The door swung open with a creak, and she peered in.

Two candles burst into flames, revealing Snape sitting at his desk. “You are late,” he said.

Harriet slipped into the room and the door thundered shut behind her. “Sit,” Snape said, a bony finger indicating the desk in front of him, where the second candle was dripping. “You will write lines.”

There was a stack of parchment and a single quill. Harriet settled herself into the seat and picked it up. “What am I writing?” she asked but it came out as a whisper, barely there. She tried to _feel_ brave. Her mum wouldn’t have been afraid, she told herself. Slowly, she made herself straighten up.

“What am I writing, please?” she asked, louder.

The scratching of his quill didn’t pause. “I will obey my instructors,” he said drolly.

Harriet licked at her dry lips. “And how many times, sir?”

Now he did look up. Harriet stared at his nose furiously. “Until I am satisfied,” he said. Then, when she paused with the dripping quill above the parchment. “Begin, _Tonks_.”

Harriet ducked her head and squinted at the parchment, laboriously scratching out the first line in her best calligraphy. She checked the spelling, and went on.

It wasn’t really a punishment, she thought much later. Unless he was trying to bore her to death. She took a moment to shake out her aching wrist and paused at the unexpected silence.

She looked up slowly, the back of her neck crawling, and stared at the end of the wand. “Vultum pateface!” that sinister voice hissed. She jerked, knees knocking painfully into the desk. Something fell.

A gust of hot wind gusted across Harriet's face, and her eyes itched furiously. She shut them and dropped her own hastily-drawn wand to the desk with a clatter, rubbing at her eyes furiously.

“Tonks,” that voice said, flatly now.

“Look at me,” it told her, “unless you have not learned your lesson yet.”

Harriet was furious, _furious_ , in a burning way. She tore off her glasses and let them fall too, and ground her palms into her eyes, feeling tears streaming down slowly.

" _Tonks_ ,” the voice insisted with a sneer, and she looked upward. Snape’s face was a watercolor blur, white against the dark, and it lurched backwards. Then it turned and fled, the door slamming behind him.

There was ink spilled all across the desk. Harriet fished her glasses out of the mess, eyes aching hotly and streaming still, and wiped the dark smears off of them as best she could. Then she groped up her wand—Merlin, even her robes were damp with ink—and stood, wobbling.

The door slammed open again, and Harriet whirled, wand clenched tightly. Snape and McGonagall and Dumbledore poured into the room. The torches along the walls burst into light as Snape snarled, “I told you. I told you, Albus!”

Professor McGonagall put a hand over her mouth. Only Dumbledore looked calm still. “Harriet, my dear,” he said warmly, putting a restraining hand on Snape’s arm.

“Has anyone ever told you—you have your mother’s eyes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we finally get to meet all our main characters! and the plot really starts rolling.
> 
> the idea of one of Harry's parents scratching their names into a bed comes from "the Reclaimation of Black Magic" by ShayaLonnie. i adore that fic, and highly recommend it. i know the real math doesn't add up, it's one year off (i checked this time!) but it's important to me, so we're gonna hand-wave it. hope you guys enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Professor Dumbledore’s office was warm and cluttered with interesting things. Harriet ate another biscuit off the tea tray, trying to ignore the furious roar of the adults arguing. She wasn’t really hungry, but anything was better than the empty twisting in her gut. Professor McGonagall had sat her down between her and Professor Sprout, and Professor Dumbledore had told Harriet to help herself to the tray, and that was the last anyone had actually spoken to her.

“—put with those vile people!” Professor McGonagall snapped. “I _told_ you not to—”

“—stolen for ten years, and no one—” Professor Sprout said, and wrung her hands.

“—helped you put those wards up myself!” Professor Flitwick squeaked from his perch on his chair. “They should have—”

“—must notify the Ministry! At once!” Snape growled. “The Black family is notoriously dark, and should have never—”

“Oi!” Harriet said, and clapped a hand over her mouth to contain the spray of crumbs.

Five heads swiveled towards her. Harriet swallowed frantically and burst out, “My mum isn’t a Black! And she isn’t dark! And, and she’s never been even a little nasty at me!”

“I never said,” Snape began, but Harriet scrambled up.

“You implied!” she said. “Professor Dumbledore, if everyone’s just going to say bad things about my family, can I please leave?”

Professor Dumbledore considered her from over the edges of his glasses. “Please pardon us, my dear girl,” he said. “We’re only a little shocked, for we all thought Harriet Potter was growing up safe and secure with her Muggle relatives. Imagine our dismay when she did not show up to be Sorted, and in fact, it appeared as though she was not enrolled at Hogwarts at all. Is some confusion not understandable?”

Slowly, Harriet sat back down.

“Have another biscuit,” Professor Dumbledore suggested. “And we shall take a moment to organize ourselves, and remember how to be civil towards one another.”

There was a long silence. Professor McGonagall was the first to recover. “Albus,” she said slowly. “There’s one thing I am the most confused about—and I have checked several times!—all of the registration papers were in the name of _Tonks_. There is no Potter on the list.”

Professor Dumbledore was selecting a biscuit of his own. “Ah, raspberry chocolate,” he said to Harriet. “Would you like one, my dear?”

“Albus,” Professor McGonagall insisted.

“I should think the answer is obvious, to an inquiring mind,” Professor Dumbledore said. “The quill that composes such lists uses the child’s legal name.” He fixed Harriet a look. “What was the name on your letter, my dear?” he asked pleasantly.

“Tonks,” Harriet said at once, heart pounding. She thought her mum wouldn’t mind her answering that much.

“Thank you,” he said gravely. “I believe some investigation is in order to confirm this, but I have no doubt that all of Miss Tonks’s documents will be in proper order. All, perhaps, excepting those giving them official custody of the child. That, I have no doubt, will be missing.”

Harriet squirmed, and shoved a biscuit into her mouth.

“Yes, that’s well and good,” Professor Sprout said, “but how did they get the poor girl in the first place? I remember shortly after, well, and you told us all she was going to Lily’s family.”

“Yes!” Professor Flitwick added. “I went and helped put up the wards at their house. Somewhere in Surrey, was it? They should have alerted if she was removed!”

“Ah,” Professor Dumbledore said and steepled his fingers gentle, peering at Harriet over the tops of them. “Of this, I also have questions. Perhaps you could enlighten us, Miss Tonks?”

This was the moment she had been waiting for! Finally, it would be over. Harriet wiped at her mouth, and said, “No. Sorry, sir.”

Another silence, this one hot with rage. She heard the gusted breath as Snape, lurking behind their chairs, drew himself up. “You impertinent child!” he hissed. “You will answer the headmaster this instant, or I will have you in detention until you leave this cursed school!”

“Severus!” Professor McGonagall snapped. “Restrain yourself!”

Then she turned to Harriet. “This is a very serious matter, Miss Tonks. What your, what Edward and Andromeda did was illegal, and could have repercussions. The re-homing of a child must go through the Ministry, especially for a child of your renown.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Harriet said. “But I’m really not supposed to talk to _anyone_ about it.”

“Under whose orders?” asked Professor Flitwick with a shrewd look.

“Our lawyer’s,” Harriet said. “And I’m sorry, sir, but I’m much more scared of her than I am of you.”

Professor Sprout covered her mouth to hold in a laugh.

“Well, I see that your parents have indeed considered the legal side of this,” Professor Dumbledore said. “And I can hardly ask a bright young lady like you to go against the advice of your legal counsel. Now, my dear, I think this is where we must ask you to return to your dormitory.”

“You can’t mean to leave it at that!” Professor McGonagall said.

“I do not,” Professor Dumbledore told her. “But I also have no doubt that young Miss Tonks would serve as an adequate and willing spy for her family if we allow her to remain. But I do have one last question, before you retire.” He looked at her, eyes twinkling. “I have my suspicions, of course, but would you humor an old man and answer, if you are able?”

“Yes, sir,” Harriet said. “If I think I can.”

“When last I saw you, you were in possession of a rather prodigious scar.”

“Oh!” Harriet said, and dug in her pocket for her handkerchief. She handed it over promptly, and asked, “Could you make this wet, please, sir?”

“Of course,” Professor Dumbledore said, smiling as if she’d told him a joke. He waved his wand over it and handed it back.

Harriet tugged off her glasses, and holding one of the ear pieces between her teeth, scrubbed with both hands at her face, starting her forehead and working her way down her nose and across her cheek. Slowly, the cover-up came off in brown smears, soiling the handkerchief.

When she shoved her glasses back on and looked up, the Professors were staring in astonishment, except for Professor Flitwick, who looked pleased, and Professor Dumbledore, who only offered her a smile.

“The most complicated solutions are not always the best,” he said wisely. “You may retire now, my dear. However, if you wish to speak to me again, please remember that I am fond of Jelly Slugs.”

“Yes, sir,” Harriet said, and slipped out of her seat.

In the corridor, as the gargoyle slid back into place, Harriet leaned against the wall and rubbed at her chest. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt! She took a minute to make sure she wouldn’t wobble over when she walked, and turned back towards where she thought the stairs were.

It wasn’t curfew yet, so the common room wasn’t very crowded. Harriet ducked her head so her hair fell over her face, and picked her way up the stars to the girls’ dorm. Hermione was perched on the edge of her bed.

“What happened!” she cried when she saw Harriet.

“Snape’s a git, is what happened,” Harriet said. “I should have brought my cover-up with me, I had to take it off. And Professor Dumbledore sent me away so I wouldn’t be a spy.”

She ducked into the bathroom and jerked back.

“What?” Hermione demanded, standing nearly on her heels.

“Nothing,” Harriet said, peering into the mirror.

Then she ducked her head again, and put her cream on with her eyes closed. “Snape took the charm off my eyes. I’m not, they look _weird_.”

“Well, let me see,” Hermione said. “Did your mum tell you what the charm is? Maybe we can put it back on.”

“It’s too complicated,” Harriet said. “I dunno what I’m going to do tomorrow, everyone will notice!”

She blinked her eyes open, looking at Hermione, who raised her eyebrows. “They aren’t going to miss _that_ ,” she said. “But they’re such a gorgeous color. It must have been awful having to hide them.”

“Not really,” Harriet said, throwing herself onto her bed. “I was so little, and now I’m used to the other way. Anyways, Dora's are supposed to match.” She wrinkled her nose, her stomach aching.

“We’ll think of something,” Hermione said. “We can always ask a teacher.”

“No,” Harriet said at once. “I’m sick and tired of teachers. They all think I shouldn’t be living with my mum and dad. Like they know _anything_ about it.”

Hermione came over and patted her arm. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine,” Harriet told her. “Can we talk about something else? What happened between you and Bulstrode?”

“Urgh!” Hermione cried. “Not her.”

“Oh yes, her,” Harriet said. “I didn’t even know her name, Hermione, she’s in Slytherin! How’re you making friends with her?”

Hermione sputtered. “We aren’t friends!” she said. “We’ll _never_ be friends! She _accosted_ me in the library during lunch period, and was awful.”

Harriet rolled over to stare at her. “Was she really?” she asked. “I’ll hex her for you. I’ll write Dora for some really nasty ones.”

“Well,” Hermione hedged. “Not _that_ awful.”

“What did she say?”

“I won’t be repeating it,” Hermione said. “Anyways, we shouldn’t be gossiping. I finished my homework already, so you start yours and I’ll go find a book on color changing charms. You probably shouldn’t leave the dorm until we figure out what to do.”

Harriet pulled a pillow over her face and groaned into it. Hermione stood up, the bed bouncing from the force and told her, “Try not to look at Parvati or Lavender, either! I’ll be back.”

* * *

“I’m not going to try it on your eyes!” Hermione hissed, a dark blur against the harsh white of the loo wall. “What if it goes wrong and you go blind? Or I get the color wrong and you end up with red eyes?”

“Better than this,” Harriet said, squinting at her. “Then we can tell everyone you mucked up a spell and make a teacher put them the right color. Or just leave them. Red eyes would be _cool_.”

“Harriet!” Hermione shrieked, but quietly.

“Well, we’ve got to do something! The others are going to wake up any minute now. And you nearly turned that parchment all the way pink.”

“It was supposed to go over blue!”

Harriet shrugged, and fiddled with her glasses. “Come on, just give it your best shot.”

“No,” Hermione said, and made to fling her wand away. “I know you don’t want to, but we should really ask a teacher. Harriet, please.”

“Fine,” Harriet huffed. “I suppose we can go ask Professor Sprout. She didn’t say anything nasty about how the Ministry should take me. And we had better go now. I don’t fancy going down to breakfast looking like this.”

They were climbing out of the portrait hole when someone cleared their throat noisily. Harriet looked out, then looked down.

“Hello,” Professor Flitwick said cheerfully.

“Er, hello,” Harriet said.

He smiled brightly. “You’re just the student I was looking for!” he told her. He shot a glance at Hermione and asked, “Could I speak to you alone for a moment? It’s a sensitive matter.”

“If it’s about last night, Hermione can stay, thanks,” Harriet said.

“You told her, then?” he squeaked.

“It was hard for her not to notice my eyes,” Harriet said. “Seeing as they’re bright green now.”

Professor Flitwick straightened up. “Just what I wanted to talk to you about!” he said. “We, that is, the professors involved, have decided that we’re going to proceed with discretion for now. Don’t look startled, it’s perfectly fine for me to tell you that. In fact, I think the headmaster is counting on you to inform your family. Think of it as a cessation of hostilities, if you will. So I’ve come to reapply that clever charm, if you’ll let me.”

“Um, alright,” Harriet said.

“Kneel down here,” Professor Flitwick said. “And remove those glasses, please. Very good, try not to blink. Professor McGonagall let me peek at her memories, so I think I can get the color right.”

Harriet stared, and felt her eyes water. And then there was that familiar warm breeze gusting across her face, and Professor Flitwick nodded in a job well done. “Pull out your mirror, and have a look!” he said. “Incidentally, did your mother do this charm, or your father?”

“My mother,” Harriet said. “Professor, I haven’t got a mirror.”

Hermione was making a face, but she didn’t say anything.

“Really?” Professor Flitwick said, and waved his wand through the air, producing a small and ornate pocket mirror. “In my day, pocket mirrors were all the rage. Very good at reflecting small jinxes during class. But, I suppose, times do change.”

“Reflecting jinxes?” Hermione demanded, suddenly looking excited.

Harriet slid her glasses back on and peering into the mirror.

“It was rather the fashion to jinx your friends in class,” Professor Flitwick said, “usually when the class was supposed to be quietly studying. And Shield Charms, which not everyone can produce, are rather noticeable. So we used mirrors to reflect the jinxes back when we could. To get the caster in trouble. It was a grand time.” He heaved a nostalgic sigh. “And of course, you could use them at night to send Morse code messages, or to peer around corners when playing war. Useful tools, mirrors.”

Hermione bit her lip and looked extremely hopeful.

“Oh, very well,” Professor Flitwick said, and waved another mirror into existence. “Now, don’t be using these to get into trouble, children. Well, Miss Tonks?”

“It’s right, Professor,” she said, and climbed back to her feet. “Thank you, sir.”

“Of course!” He beamed. “Now, you had best get along to breakfast. I myself never attended the morning meal, and look what happened.” He gestured at himself, conveying his extremely short height, and they laughed in surprise.

“Either way, you must excuse me, for I have to speak to Professor McGonagall. Run along, and I’ll see you in class later this week.”

Carefully, they tucked their new mirrors away and headed for the stairs.

“Well,” Hermione said, when they’d gone a decent distance. “He’s very nice.”

“Hmm,” Harriet agreed. The back of her mirror had a flowering lily on it, twisted into the design of vines.

They were first at the breakfast table, and sat dawdling over bowls of oatmeal until the rest of the first years trickled in, and the mail finally came. A school owl traded Harriet a brown paper-wrapped package for a piece of sausage, and she tore into it eagerly. A letter, a newspaper cutting, and two books fell onto the table.

“It’s from Dora,” Harriet said, scanning the letter. “She said she’d awfully mad I’m in Gryffindor, that Mum and Dad still love me though, she’s sent my Nancy Drew book and the next one because she guesses she still loves me, too, and there’s a newspaper article she thought I might like.”

Hermione reached for the clipping, and turned it over. **Gringotts Break-In!** the headline screamed. Several sharp-faced goblins in the picture frowned and shuffled out of frame.

“Apparently nothing was taken,” Hermione said. “The vault’s owner emptied it just before the break-in. Look, on July 31st.” She passed the clipping to Harriet. Dora had scribbled across the back, _Now this is a real whodunit. My mentor wants to investigate, but the goblins aren’t letting any Ministry workers in, not even the Aurors._

“Whatever it was, it must have been important,” Harriet said, and shoved her books into her bag. “I don’t think anyone’s ever broken into Gringotts before. They must have been mad to do it.”

* * *

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Harriet had sent off a letter to her mother, and had gotten no response, which was worrying. The teachers hadn’t said anything either, though sometimes she thought she caught them looking at her. But the announcement that flying lessons would begin on Friday cheered her greatly.

Hermione was nervous about learning, and turned faintly green whenever broomsticks were mentioned, but Harriet had her fill of bragging and Quidditch talk with the rest of their housemates. Only Neville preferred to join Hermione as she poured over _Quidditch Through the Ages_. They shared crash statistics and bad injuries in hurried whispers, taking turns frightening each other, sometimes nearly to tears.

“It’ll be fine,” Harriet reassured her as Hermione braided her hair back on Thursday night. “Broomsticks are easy, and I’ll be right there. If you fall, Madam Hooch will just grab you. She did it for Dora loads of times.”

Hermione made a horrified sound and tugged at Harriet's hair. “Stop moving!” she said sternly. “I’m not worried about falling, not really. I don’t suppose we’re even going to fly very high the first day. But we do have flying lessons with the Slytherins, and I’m worried about them making trouble. Draco Malfoy’s got an awful grudge against Neville and Ron.”

“Really?” Harriet asked. She hadn’t noticed.

“Ever since the train,” Hermione said, and tied off the end of the braid. “Honestly, Harriet, you should pay more attention. I know your mind’s on _other things_ ,” she said meaningfully. “But didn’t your mum want you to be making friends?”

“I’m not going to make friends with _Draco Malfoy_ ,” Harriet said and wrinkled her nose.

“No,” Hermione agreed at once. “But you could with Ron or Neville. They’re alright.”

“I suppose,” Harriet said, and clambered off her bed to check the mirror in the bathroom. She tugged the braid, and tried swinging it over her shoulder. “But I’ve already got a best friend, so don’t you expect me to spend _too_ much time with those boys .”

Hermione grinned, embarrassed.

“I like my hair this way,” Harriet said, turning in all directions. Hermione had used oil to smooth down all the strands threatening to break free of the braid. It was the most controlled her hair had ever been, she thought. “Thanks, ‘Mione. And really, everything’s going to be fine.”

But Hermione must have been gazing into a crystal ball or reading tea leaves, because Friday morning began with an ominous start. Harriet was staring at the mail owls with a frown, hopeful of a letter still, when a furious bark of “Give it back!” broke her train of thought.

Malfoy was standing at the Gryffindor table, throwing a glass ball hand to hand as Ron Weasley quivered in rage and Neville approached tears.

“That’s Neville's,” Ron said, and pulled his wand. “Give it back to him right now, you slimy git.”

“Now, now, Weasley,” Malfoy said. “That’s no way to speak to your betters.”

Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the length of the hall towards them. Malfoy must have spotted her first, because he tossed the ball back to Neville, who barely managed to fumble a catch. “You two had better watch out,” Malfoy said nastily. “Accidents can happen.”

But he had already swanned back to the Slytherin table by the time the professor got there. Harriet sent a frown after him, and resolved to be on the lookout during flying practice.

At three-thirty that afternoon, the Gryffindor first years hurried onto the grounds, this time on purpose. It was a beautiful day, Harriet thought, turning her head up to catch the warm sun across her face. Not even arriving after the Slytherins and having the worst pick of the broomsticks could spoil her good mood. Harriet _loved_ flying.

Hermione was settled next to her, nervously eyeing an old Shooting Star when Madam Hooch arrived and started to direct them. Ron broke into sniggers when she corrected Malfoy on his grip, but nearly turned purple when she did the same to him.

Harriet had helped Hermione, and they passed under Madam Hooch’s keen eyes with an approving nod.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off the ground hard,” Madam Hooch told them. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come back down by leaning forward slightly.” She started to count them off, but Neville was already pushing off and rising hard.

Madam Hooch shouted in alarm, and mounted her broom. But Neville was rising faster and faster, his face a small, round white blur above them, and he shrieked as he slipped, his hands sliding, and fell right off the back of his broom! Something small and glittering faintly was thrown from him, and settled into the grass.

There was a hush, Madam Hooch was flying towards him, but she was too slow, and he hit the ground with a thud and a snap, and burst into tears. Madam Hooch helped him sit up, and diagnosed his wrist as broken right away.

Hermione had jumped away from her broom with a startled gasp, and now stood with her hands over her mouth. Harriet put a comforting arm around her shoulders while Madam Hooch gave them instructions and hurried off.

The class burst into chatter as she and Neville disappeared indoors.

“That was horrible,” Hermione was moaning, when a scuffle broke out.

“Give that here,” Ron was saying to Malfoy, who was holding the little glass ball and smirking.

“No,” he said easily. “Longbottom’s lost his Rememberall on the first day. I dare say, wouldn’t it be funny to put it somewhere he’s never _think_ to look? Maybe up a tree…”

Several Slytherins snickered.

“Give it here!” Ron bellowed, but Malfoy was already astride his broom, and rising in a lazy spiral.

“Come and get it, Weasley,” he said.

Ron flung himself onto his broom, and rose in a wobbly line.

“Oh no,” Hermione moaned. “Oh, he’s going to get us into so much trouble!”

Ron flew at Malfoy, and they tussed furiously, broomsticks clattering against each other as they shoved and punched. Finally, Malfoy hooked his leg around Ron's and unseated him; Ron tumbled into the grass and watched with clenched teeth as Malfoy rose higher.

“Maybe you’re right, Weasley,” he shouted. “Even baboons are right once in a blood moon. _I_ shouldn’t have it. In fact, these things are practically useless. No one should.” And with that he wound his arm back and chucked the ball with all his strength.

It flew through the air towards the castle, straight at the high stone walls. Hermione was crying out—

_“Don’t be scared,” Dora said, and set her on the broom, climbing on after her. They rose steadily._

Harriet was mounting her broom and pushing off, going smoothly upward—

_“The trick is to get some height,” Dora told her as the ground disappeared into the clouds. Her arm was warm and secure around Harriet’s waist._

The Rememberall flew straight for one of the towers, arcing in the air. Harriet watched it and _knew_ the path it would take, even as the wind rose—

_“Let the broom do the work for you. Falling is_ always _faster than flying.”_

She picked up speed as if in a dream and spun, diving, heading straight for the castle wall—

The handle of her broom scraped against the stone as she wrenched it and turned the bloody thing, hand outstretched to catch the ball, and the force of it crashed her knuckles against the stone. She swore, and tucked her hand back to her chest, and kicked off the wall, spiraling gently back towards the raised faces of the class, and of—

Professor McGonagall, who was rushing across the lawn, hand clapped to her head to keep her hat on as she ran. Harriet swallowed, and landed, dropping the broomstick like it burned, just as the professor shouted, “MISS TONKS!” in a furious voice.

Hermione buried her face in her hands and moaned. “Never!” Professor McGonagall shouted, panting. “In all my time at Hogwarts! You could have broken your _neck_!” Her glasses caught the sun, her eyes hidden, but Harriet wouldn’t have been surprised if they had caught flame.

“You will come with me, right this instant!” she demanded. “And _you_ —” whirling on Malfoy and Ron. “Madam Hooch _will_ be hearing about this!” and then she took out her wand and cast a spell, and all the broomsticks turned into tree branches.

Harriet was swept along in Professor McGonagall’s wake as she strode toward the castle, and she trotted after her in silence, up the stairs and into the Charms corridor, when the professor stuck her head into a door and said, “Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, but I must borrow Wood, immediately.”

A confused Gryffindor drifted out, and shared a look with Harriet, but Professor McGonagall only swept them along and into an empty classroom where Peeves, scattering the trash out of the can, took one look at her and fled right out of the wall, leaving behind an oozing green slime that obligingly formed itself into the words _bugger off_.

Professor McGonagall whipped around, her face red, and breathed out hard. “Wood,” she said, “meet the new Gryffindor seeker.”

Wood made a noise like an startled cat, his eyes wide.

“She caught—take it out, Tonks, yes—that thing out of a fifty foot dive straight at the castle wall, and barely got scraped. Charlie Weasley would have flattened himself.”

The cat noise cut off. Wood looked rapidly from Harriet's hand to Professor McGonagall and back again. “Are you sure?” he demanded.

“I saw it from my office window. It nearly gave me a heart attack,” the professor admitted.

Wood spun back towards Harriet and rushed her, scooping her up and spinning her around with a delighted shout. “We’re going to flatten the Slytherins!” he crowed. “Was it your first time on a broom? No? Well, training doesn’t account for sheer bloody, sorry professor, talent.”

He dropped her and said cheerfully, “Built like a Seeker, too. Hollow bones. She’ll need a good broom, it’d be a waste to put her on a school one. Oh, Professor! We’ve got a real chance this year!”

Stunned, Harriet shoved the Rememberall back into her pocket.

“Back to class now, Wood,” Professor McGonagall said. “And not a word to anyone except the team.”

“The Slytherins really haven’t got a chance,” he said, delighted, and grabbed Harriet's hand, shaking it aggressively. “Training’s Sunday at eight. See you then—Tonks? Tonks.” And then he bounded out of the room like he was walking on air.

Professor McGonagall looked at Harriet over the tops of her glasses. “These are special circumstance, Miss Tonks,” she said, not quite managing to sound severe with such a huge beaming smile on her face. “I want to hear you’re training hard, or I might have to punish you after all.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harriet said with relief.

“You may go now,” Professor McGonagall said. “I’ll have you excused from further flying classes. You may spend them in the library.”

It wasn’t until Harriet had her hand on the door that the professor cleared her throat a little awkwardly, and said, “Your father would have been proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself.”

Harriet _knew_ , she just knew the professor wasn’t talking about Ted Tonks. She left, feeling like she, too, wasn't hardly touching the stone floor.

* * *

Wood spread the news fast: Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet cornered Harriet and Hermione in the bathroom before dinner. Harriet, up to her elbows in pale green soap suds, was listening to Hermione recounting the rest of the flying lesson, when the door creaked open and the three older girls sidled in.

“She yelled at them for almost half-an-hour,” Hermione was saying. She shot a look at the older girls, and lowered her voice. “I timed it. Honestly, Harriet, I think you got off quite lightly.”

Harriet was also watching them in the mirror. All three girls were quite popular in Gryffindor, and had been awarded the smallest loveseat by the fire, an honor usually reserved for seventh years. Katie Bell would read your palm for ten Knuts, and Angelina Johnson knew the most hair braiding charms out of all the girls in their house.

They didn’t say anything to Harriet and Hermione, only checked that the other stalls were empty, and then Alicia Spinnet locked the door with a flick of her wand.

Harriet tensed, and turned around with her hands dripping as Angelina Johnson said with a wicked gleam in her eye, “I heard that an ickle little firstie is going to be our new Seeker.”

“I heard that too,” Katie Bell said, giggling. “I wonder, whoever could it be?”

Alicia Bell was digging something out of her pocket—it turned out to be a plastic blue kazoo, which she blew into enthusiastically, as Angelina raised her wand and shot out a cloud of confetti and ribbons.

“Congratulations!” they all shouted as one.

“Now we finally have a chance!” Angelina Johnson said, and shook Harriet's dripping hand.

Harriet beamed. “I thought you were going to put my head down the toilet,” she said with great relief. That happened all the time in bullying stories, and she wasn’t keen to experience it herself.

“Is that a Muggle thing?” Katie asked.

Angelina furrowed her brows. “D’you want us to?” she asked. “Bit of an odd requested, but I bet between the three of us, we could lift you.”

“Don't be stupid purebloods,” Alicia said. “I told you both to take that Burbage’s bloody class instead of Divination. And no one is putting _anyone’s_ head down the toilet. That’s disgusting.”

Hermione made a deeply relieved noise.

“Wood told us,” Angelina said, and slung an arm around Harriet's shoulders. “We’re going to have a House party tonight—the Weasley twins have gone out to get Butterbeer and nibbles. Officially it’s because their brother got ickle little Malfoy a week of detention, but _we’ll_ know the real reason.”

When they left, Harriet shoved her hands back into the soap, and laughed as she came up with a soggy handful of ribbons.

Hermione was grinning, too. She bumped her shoulder against Harriet's and said, “I’m glad Professor McGonagall didn’t expel you.”

Harriet thought Hermione's relief about this was so extreme she wasn’t even going to bother bringing up her feelings about rewarding rule breaking. She grinned back, and they left to troop down to dinner. But on the way, they got caught up in a small traffic jam—Ron, Seamus, and Dean were facing off against Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

“A wizard’s duel,” Malfoy was saying. “Unless you don’t have any honor. Crabbe’s my second.”

“Oh no,” Harriet said, and muscled her way to Ron's side. He was red-faced and sputtering.

“Well?” Malfoy demanded coolly.

“At midnight!” Ron burst. “In the trophy room.” He swiveled to look at Seamus and Dean, who both took rapid steps back.

“I’ll be his second,” Harriet said at once, and gave Malfoy a mean look. Hermione hissed, “Harriet!” but she only shook her head and put her hand on Ron's shoulder.

“Fine,” Malfoy said. “A Weasley and Muggleborn? I’ll blow through you both in five minutes.” And then he turned on his heel. “Come on, Crabbe, Goyle. We’d better let them get to dinner. Shame if they missed their last meal.”

They all sniggered meanly and left. Ron, panting, whirled around. “That git!” he said. Harriet agreed grimly.

“Um,” Dean said. “What’s a wizard’s duel?”

Hermione let out a noise like a tea kettle. “You just got out of trouble!” she told Harriet. “What were you thinking?”

“That Malfoy’s a git, but even a git can be dangerous,” Harriet said. “And so can wizard duels. I couldn’t let Ron go alone.”

Ron, meanwhile, was explaining the concept to Dean and Seamus, who were rapidly looking sick. “You could die?” Dean asked in a wobbly voice.

“Probably we won’t,” Ron said. “I don’t think he knows many curses; I know I don’t. We’ll send sparks, I bet, and then punch each other a bit.” He was rallying. “Worst that happens is we’ll get caught, and I’m _already_ in detention.”

“Harriet,” Hermione said, hanging onto her arm. “You can’t!”

“I’ve got to,” Harriet said, and she and Ron shared a look. “It’s not just _our_ honor, Hermione. It’s about our families now.”

All five of them went to dinner in a diminished mood, and not even the raucous celebration afterwards could make Harriet feel better. She got in her bed at half-ten, full of Butterbeer and chocolate and sticky pieces of toffee the size of her hand, and lay in agony until it was time.

Silently, hearing Lavender snoring and Parvati mumble in her sleep, she tugged on her bathrobe and headed for the stairs. She wasn’t surprised when Hermione's bed creaked, or a second pair of feet padded after her.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Hermione said grimly in her ear, “but I’m not going to let you go to a duel alone with Ron Weasley.”

Ron was waiting in the common room, empty except for a handful of snoring seventh years. “C’mon,” he said impatiently, and pushed open the portrait hole door. They clambered out, and nearly tripped over Neville, who sat up with a squeak and groped for his wand.

“Neville?” they all demanded at once, and he flushed bright and miserable red.

“I forgot the new password,” he moaned. “And the Fat Lady went off when I couldn’t remember it. I’ve been here for hours.” And then he squinted at them. “What’re you doing?”

“Wizard’s duel,” Ron said grimly. “Harriet’s my second. I don’t know why Hermione's here.”

“Harriet's my best friend,” she huffed. “If Ron's going to get her killed, I’m going to be there and kill _him_.”

Neville paled.

“No one is going to die,” Harriet said impatiently, and picked up Hermione's wrist to check the time. “We’ve got to get going. Neville, the password is Pig Snout. Try to remember it until the Fat Lady comes back.”

“Oh, no!” he whispered. “Don’t leave me here!” And he scrambled up and crept down the corridor after them.

Hogwarts was different at night—sinister. Hermione clutched Harriet's hand, and Harriet grabbed the back of Ron's bathrobe, and with Neville trodding on their heels, they crept down to the third floor. The trophy room was open, and empty.

“They had better hurry up,” Ron said grimly, and tugged his wand out of his pocket. Harriet withdrew her own—she’d checked half a dozen times since they’d left the tower that she still had it.

Then there was a shuffling noise, and a voice muttered, “Where are those vandals, my pretty?”

Filch!

They scrambled backwards as the doorknob began to turn. “This way!” Ron hissed, and they scrambled out a door Harriet had never been through before, into a small, empty classroom. Peeves, spectrally green in the thin light the windows provided, looked up from where he was cramming gum under the desks. “Students,” he whispered gleefully.

Ron whimpered. “Students!” Peeves screamed, and flew through them unpleasantly. “Students out of bed! Students out of bed!” He passed into the trophy room, where they heard Filch cursing him as they scrambled away.

They ran out of the room, into a long corridor, in and out of several more connected rooms, and passed several suits of armor who rattled menacingly. It was bad luck that Neville fell into one, and it collapsed with an enormous clatter and a thin cry.

“Oh, get up!” Harriet cried, and she and Ron hauled him out of the pile of metal. Filch was shouting now, and coming closer, and they fled down the corridor and all piled up into a closed door.

“Ouch!” Hermione cried, who had been flattened against it.

“Shh!” Harriet said, and they all held their breath. “He’s coming,” she hissed, and tried the door madly.

“Out of the way,” Hermione said, the whites of her eyes bright in the dark, and pointed her wand at it. “Alohomora!”

The door creaked open, and they all piled in, shushing each other, and squeaking as it seemed all their feet got tread on at once. “Hush!” Harriet hissed finally, and pressed her ear to the door. Filch was scraping around right outside, and she clenched Hermione's hand tightly, until she heard something else clatter and crash in the distance.

"Icklie Filchie can't catch the firsties!" Peeves cried, and there was another crash, like he'd pushed over a suit of armor. "Can't catch them!" Crash! "Can't catch them!"

“Stop that! Peeves!” Filch cried. “I’ll get the Bloody Baron! I will!”

“He’s going away,” Harriet said, but didn’t hear any sighs of relief. She turned to look at the others, and froze.

There was a very small window in the room, through which moonlight was barely trickling in. It was just big enough, in fact, to give the sense of several shadows, which were in possession of three heads, and six rows of flashing, gleaming teeth.

It was an enormous three-headed dog, staring at them dumbly.

Very slowly, out of the corner of her mouth, Hermione whispered, “We’re…on…the…third…floor.”

Neville squeaked, and the dog, previously confused at the sight of them, rallied. Those three terrible mouths opened in a furious chorus of barks, and it drew closer as Harriet fumbled frantically for the doorknob. She swung it open and they all fell out in a heap, just as the dog reached the end of its rattling chain.

Hot, rank breath ghosted over Harriet's face, and she slammed the door shut.

As one, they scrambled to their feet, and all ran as fast as they could back to Gryffindor tower, where the flabbergasted Fat Lady swung open for them. They piled in, all of them panting, in front of the low-banked fire, and stared at each other with huge eyes.

“Did you see?” Hermione gasped.

“All those bloody heads?” Ron wheezed. “Yes, I _did_ notice that!”

Harriet sank slowly onto the floor, thinking she would never move again.

“Not the heads,” Hermione snarled at Ron. “It’s feet!”

“No,” Ron said slowly. “I didn’t really look at its feet. I was more distracted by the three bloody heads trying to eat us!”

“Well, if you’d used your eyes, instead of trying to get us all killed!” Hermione screeched, “You might have noticed the great big trapdoor it was standing on! It’s guarding something!”

“Bugger what it’s guarding,” Ron said. “We could have died! And _you’re_ the one who opened that door! Obviously it was locked for a reason!”

“For three big reasons,” Harriet muttered, but that was all she had time to say because Hermione was grabbing her hand and dragging her up.

“We’re going to bed now,” she said huffily. “And if you know what’s good for you, Ronald Weasley, you’ll stay away from us!”

Harriet followed her obligingly up to the dorm, and then crawled after her into her bed. “I’m not sleeping alone tonight,” she told Hermione. “Did you see those teeth?” she shivered, and Hermione threw the sheets over the both of them.

In that small, dark cave Harriet felt safe to whisper, “Was it really standing on a trap door?”

“Yes,” Hermione whispered back. “And it must be guarding something awfully dangerous for Professor Dumbledore to be keeping it in the castle, where students can run into it.”

“Let’s think about it more tomorrow,” Harriet said when Hermione stopped to breathe in. “I’m so tired, and bloody sore all over.”

“Alright,” Hermione agreed readily enough, and they both pretended not to notice the other snuggling closer. Harriet, with a mouth half-full of Hermione's hair, fell asleep at once.

But in the morning, there was no time to think about anything. Harriet woke up to Hermione's small hand shaking her awake. The dorm was empty except for them, and Hermione's enormous frown. “Oh, Harriet,” she said.

“What?” Harriet mumbled and put her glasses on.

“I went down to breakfast,” Hermione said in a small voice. “And, well—”

She offered Harriet a copy of the Prophet, folded closed tightly. Harriet fumbled it open, and dropped it onto the bedspread, where the headline shook in place.

**Girl-Who-Lived Stolen By Andromeda Tonks Née Black!!!!!!**

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much stuff happens in this chapter!! and unfortunately, i did have to crib some of it from the book. if you recognize it, it ain't mine.
> 
> up next, reveals! heartbreak! trolls!


	4. Chapter 4

There was no point in putting on her cover-up. Harriet shoved it aside in disgust as she brushed her teeth, half-listening to Hermione read that horrible article, which seemed to take up most of the paper.

“’Sources say’,” Hermione read, and sputtered. “She’s said _sources_ four times now, but never names them! ‘Sources say that Professor Dumbledore, a close friend of the Potters, placed young Harriet Potter with her Muggle relatives for her own protection after her miraculous defeat of You-Know-Who. This writer cannot help but wonder what nefarious purposes drove Andromeda Black to remove our Savior from certain safety and pass her off as her own child.’”

Hermione groaned and scanned the rest of the article. “Are you sure you want to hear this?” she asked. “It’s just more of that drivel, no, wait. Here’s a funny bit—‘This writer reached out to the Department of Mysteries, where Andromeda Black is employed, and received the following quote from the Head of the Department Philomelos Moon: “Get your f-----g cameras out of my face! We’re the Department of _Mysteries_ , not the Department of Gossip About Your Damn Employees!” He then went on to call for Aurors, and this writer was escorted out.’ Ugh, and then more rot. ‘With such a fierce protest to someone seeking only the truth, and justice for our Savior, this writer must wonder if the DoM instructed Andromeda Black to kidnap Harriet Potter. What terrible experiments has she undergone before being rescued by the brave professors of Hogwarts?’”

Hermione flapped the paper closed. “Rescued!” she hissed. “What nonsense! You got a letter and got on the train yourself, just like the rest of us.”

Harriet agreed around a foam of paste, and ducked her head into the sink, jumping and hitting it on the faucet as the dorm room slammed open. “Oh no,” Hermione said. “They’re back.”

“Harriet!” Lavender squealed, “Harriet, why didn’t you tell us!”

Harriet emerged, hand clapped to the back of her head. They caught sight of her in the mirror, and saw the scar. Parvati made a noise to high it made Harriet wince, and came forward to hug her. “You should have told us that you were Harriet Potter,” she said. “We would have helped you! Andromeda Black can’t get you here! Oh, was she really awful?”

Harriet shoved her away and said coldly, “Andromeda TONKS is a great mum, thanks. And I’d _love_ if she could come get me, so I wouldn’t have to listen to all this rot.”

Parvati looked stunned. “But the newspaper—” she said. 

“That newspaper’s a rag,” Harriet said, leaning in until their noses touched. “I love my mum and dad very much! And you better not listen to anything the bloody Prophet’s printing because they don’t know anything about my family! And I _hate_ anyone who thinks they do.”

Parvati’s eyes filled with tears. Hermione whispered, “Harriet,” and tugged at her arm. Harriet let herself be jerked away; she tossed the Prophet onto the floor and stepped on it deliberately as she left.

The common room was just as bad. Everyone turned to look as they came down the stairs, and whispers broke into shouts. “Come on,” Hermione said grimly. She pulled her out of the room before anyone could do more than shout, and slammed the Fat Lady closed behind them, ignoring her cry of dismay.

There were more students clustered in the hallway. A Ravenclaw shouted, “I told you she had the scar!” to his friend. Harriet trembled with rage, it was so awful, and felt her eyes fill with tears.

“Did she curse you!” someone shouted.

A jinx spun across the hall and smacked him in the chest—he spasmed and broke into a wild dance. The Weasley twins were shouldering their way through the crowd, cursing spectators indiscriminately. Soon, they weren’t the only ones. Lights flared and there were swelling cries of dismay and shrieks of indignation as a fight broke out.

“Come on,” one of the twins said, grabbing Harriet by the arm. “Oliver’s called an emergency team meeting.”

They steered Harriet through the crowd and rushed her up several flights of stairs. She turned back once, and Hermione shooed her on and slipped down another hallway. And then she was being hurried through a dusty door into a very small room, crammed with a big sofa and soft chairs, all of them facing a black board, and Oliver Wood, whose hair was sticking straight up as he scribbled madly on the board.

The Chasers—Katie, Alicia, and Angelina—were already sitting on the sofa, and swiveled their heads to peer at them.

“Got her,” the twin holding Harriet's left arm said, and they abandoned her to claim the armchairs.

Oliver whirled around. “Right!” he said loudly. “Sit down, Tonks!” Forgetting he was holding a large piece of white chalk, he ran his hands through his hair. The effect wasn’t flattering. “Sit!” he insisted.

Katie and Alicia engaged in a series of furious whispers that ended in Alicia sitting grumpily on Katie’s lap, leaving the last corner of the sofa free. Harriet sat nervously, and Oliver regarded her with bloodshot eyes.

“I realized something this morning,” he said grimly. “Came to me right at the breakfast table.”

Her heart fell. Was she being kicked off the team before she even had a chance to play? She was going to kill whoever wrote that article, and all of their stupid sources, too!

The whispering started again. Harriet squirmed uncomfortably.

“Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,” he said. “Especially since I was up all night reviewing all the past Gryffindor games. In retrospect, it was obvious the moment McGonagall introduced you.”

The whispers next to Harriet increased in pitch and fervor.

“Do you know what it is?” he demanded of her. And then of the room at large, “Am I the only one who realized!”

Oliver threw the piece of chalk he was holding at the wall. “None of my maneuvers will work!” he cried in anguish. “You’re half the size of Charlie Weasley! How the hell are you going to knock a Chaser off their broom? You’ll fall and die, and then we’ll _lose_!”  
One of the twins barked a laugh. Harriet could only stared.

“Er,” Angelina said.

“A life time of work,” Oliver said. “Wasted.”

“Er—”

“You’ve only been Captain for two weeks!” the other Weasley twin said.

Oliver look offended. “I’ve been training,” he groaned, “for my _whole_ life. McGonagall picked me for my dedication and experience! She bent the rules to give me a Seeker! She is _counting_ on me to destroy the Slytherins and win back the cup!”

“McGonagall picked you because Charlie left—”

“—and you’re the only fifth year on the team!”

“Er!” Angelina shouted.

“What, Angelina?” Oliver demanded.

“Is that really what you called us for? Having to rewrite the maneuvers?” She shot a pointed glance at Harriet, who stared back and shook her head desperately.

“Yes!” Oliver cried. “Why?”

“You didn’t notice anything else at breakfast?” Angelina asked. “Maybe the newspaper?”

Oliver gestured in dismay towards the board behind him.

“Right,” Angelina said. “But, er, you haven’t noticed anything _different_ now, either?”

“I’ve got to rewrite three hundred and five strategies,” Oliver said, his eyes looking very bloodshot. Harriet wondered if he’d forgotten he was holding chalk and had rubbed at them. “Come out and say it, Johnson!”

“Our new Seeker is Harriet Potter!” Angelina shouted, and put her face in her hands.

Oliver turned from Angelina to Harriet, then back again. “Yes,” he said. “So? It hadn’t made her grow two feet and put on five stone of muscle overnight!”

The twins burst into raucous laughter. Angelina sputtered. “You don’t care?” she demanded.

Oliver swiveled around again. “Tonks. Potter? Tonks. Are your parents going to sign the forms McGonagall sent them?”

“Yes,” Harriet said at once. She thought she’d die if they didn’t.

“Good,” he said. “Then I don’t care.”

The door creaked open, but no one turned to look. Harriet, biting at her nails, felt so tense she might snap in half. If the other girls decided to defect, Oliver would _have_ to throw her off the team. There was more furious whispering from the Chasers, and Angelina said, tentatively, “Alright, then we don’t either.”

Harriet beamed. “A valiant show of loyalty,” the Headmaster said gently from behind them. “A point to Gryffindor for each of you.”

Everyone jumped, and Oliver said, “Sir!”

“Mister Wood,” Professor Dumbledore said calmly. “I have, unfortunately, come to relieve you of your Seeker for the moment. I hope you can forgive the necessity—Professor McGonagall has explained to me at length how important this year is for the Gryffindor team.”

“Yes, sir,” Oliver said, standing at attention. “Harriet can study up later.”

“Thank you,” Professor Dumbledore said. “Miss Tonks, if you please?”

Harriet had no choice. She stood up and followed him out of the room, closing the door behind her gently. She didn’t think Professor Dumbledore was the one to tell that awful writer about everything. He didn’t seem like the type of person that would be an anonymous source.

“There is someone here to meet you,” Professor Dumbledore said in a very mild tone. “He is from the Ministry, and I believe it would be best to show him the utmost respect. I will, of course, be with you through the duration, and should you also desire Professor McGonagall’s presence, I am most amenable to hosting her as well.”

“No thank you, sir,” Harriet said.

Professor Dumbledore nodded, and placed a hand on her shoulder as they came to the gargoyle, who bowed and leapt aside. As the stairs groaned upward, he said gently, “I also would not have you laboring under the delusion that we are enemies in this—none, excluding yourself, is more displeased by that vitriolic article than I. I have made it a personal mission to see what can be done to limit its spread, or the spread of others like it.”

“Don’t worry, Professor,” Harriet said slowly. “I don’t blame you or anything.” She, in fact, rather blamed Snape who seemed like the exact type of person to lurk around dark and greasy alleyways and hand over others’ personal information to reporters. But she thought it best not to say that.

“That heartens me greatly, my dear,” he said as they came into the office proper.

There _was_ a man there, in a very serious looking set of robes, but he wasn’t alone. A woman in dressed in pale pink was with him, and a tall, dark skinned man in red and black that Harriet recognized at once. And Professor McGonagall, looking very severe.

“Ah, Mister Taylor,” Professor Dumbledore said, squeezing Harriet's shoulder. “I see that you have increased. More colleagues?”

“Yes,” the man said, irritated. “The Ministry has thought to send reinforcements fit to lay siege to the castle. And I suppose you know them, so there is no need for introductions. May we please proceed?”

“I do know them, yes,” Professor Dumbledore said. “It was not long ago at all that they passed through our august halls. However, I doubt our young guest does. Please, if you would?”

The man sighed. “This is Auror Shacklebolt, who is no doubt here because the matter of one little girl falls under national security. And this is—”

“Hem hem,” the woman said, delicately. She came forward, and bent down a little to look Harriet in the eye. Harriet immediately decided that she hated the woman. “I am Senior Undersecretary Madame Umbridge. You are very lucky, my dear.”

This didn’t sound at all like the Headmaster’s ‘my dears,’ and ‘my dear girls’, which had made Harriet think at once that Professor Dumbledore was fond of her. This ‘my dear’ sounded faintly passive aggressive, and a little strained.

“The Minister himself has decided to take an interest in the matter!” Umbridge announced, and looked around like they should all be delighted as she was. But when only the Headmaster smiled, she frowned at once and drew back to sulk, her eyes fastened on Harriet's face.

“Yes, yes,” Mister Taylor said heavily. “If we could continue now?”

“I see no reason why not,” Professor Dumbledore said. “Have a seat, my dear. Here, Auror Shacklebolt will not bite.”

Harriet glanced at Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he favored her with a very white smile and held out his hand to shake. “Miss Tonks,” he said respectfully.

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall had won the fight for the chair on Harriet's other side, and settled herself with a flick of her robes. “There _are_ other chairs, Madame Undersecretary,” she said archly. “Please, _take one_.”

Mister Taylor was unearthing a sheaf of papers from the inside pocket of his over-robe, and he laid them all out onto the desk very neatly. “Miss Tonks,” he started gravely, “I have not come here today—”

“Hem hem,” Umbridge said. They swiveled to look at her. “Surely,” she said, simpering, “we should use the poor child’s name?”

“I am,” Mister Taylor said at once, very irritably. “As I was saying, Miss Tonks—”

“Hem hem,” Umbridge said.

“—I am not here to determine the status of your custody. That will require a thorough investigation into your parents.”

“ _Hem hem_ ,” Umbridge said.

Mister Taylor’s eye twitched. “However, seeing as you are currently residing safely at Hogwarts, there is little cause for immediate concern. The legal allegations leveled against your parents—”

“Hem! Hem!” Umbridge said.

“For Godssake, woman!” Taylor burst. “Drink some damn water or stop clearing your throat!”

“ _Mister_ Taylor,” Umbridge said. “Please remember who you are speaking to!”

Mister Taylor raised his eyes toward the ceiling and bit back what he was about to say. “What,” he grit out slowly, “do you want, Madame Undersecretary?”

“I must simply insist that you stop referring to Andromeda and Edward Tonks as Miss Potter’s parents,” she said, and giggled, her hand over her mouth. “The contesting of that is indeed why we’re here today. Imagine the accusations of favoritism if you are overheard!”

Mister Taylor struggled a moment, and only persisted after Professor Dumbledore caught his eye. Harriet saw something pass between them, and then Mister Taylor turned back towards Harriet. “Your physical guardians were served papers this morning, and are contesting the claims. I have no doubt they intend to submit a countersue. However _that_ will be a matter for the courts.”

He looked intently at Harriet. “ _My_ job is to determine whether you have been put in danger by your guardians, and if it will endanger you further to return to them. Your welfare is _my_ only concern.” He paused, meaningfully, and Harriet, who was already confused, only stared in response.

Mister Taylor nodded, like she had actually responded, and told her gravely, “As of today, you will no longer be in contract with your former guardians. This includes in-person visits, Floo conversations, through third-party intermediaries, and through the post. The Headmaster has already agreed to uphold these conditions, and your Head of House has been appointed your de-facto guardian. This state will continue until the Ministry investigation towards your welfare is concluded, and may continue until all legal matters are settled, at the discretion of the court should they think contact will influence you unduly.”

A very small and hoarse noise escaped Harriet.

Mister Taylor stared at her a moment longer, and sighed. “That’s all we will cover today,” he told her. “I understand this is a shock to you. I will visit another time, and probably several times, to conduct interviews and inquire after your health.”

And then he picked up his hat from the Headmaster’s desk and nodded at them all in general. “Headmaster, Professor, Auror, Madame Underscretary.”

The door grated closed behind him. Umbridge, that awful, awful woman, Harriet _hated_ her, smiled at Harriet and tried to pat her arm around the solid, unmoving mass of Professor McGonagall. “There, there,” she said. “You’re safe from those awful people, and may rest easy. The Minister himself is endeavoring to ensure your continued safety and I doubt anyone could stand in his way.”

Then she smiled at them all, like they were stupid little kids, Harriet thought, and left too.

“Well,” Professor McGonagall said as soon as the door closed. “Well!”

“Harriet,” Professor Dumbledore said, and she turned to look at him in a daze. He was holding out a handkerchief. “All will be well,” he said soothingly.

Harriet took it in trembling hands, and only after she wiped at her face did she realize she was crying. She very badly wanted her mum. And then she was sobbing, not just crying, and being pulled out of her chair and pressed against a familiarly scratchy uniform.

“Shh,” Kingsley said and rocked her gently. Harriet clutched at him, and made a mess out of his shoulder.

She sobbed until she was too tired to keep it up, and was only weeping. All the while Kingsley kept hugging her, taking her weight and rubbing her back.

Finally, she was only taking in great shuddery breaths, and he put her back in her chair and offered her another handkerchief. Harriet blew her nose and wiped at her face until it was only damp, and offered him a watery smile.

“There’s a girl,” he said and chucked her under her chin, as he always did when he saw her. “What are we going to do now, then?”

“Soldier on,” Harriet replied at once. There was no ‘Dromeda-mum to look askance at the war talk. Harriet swallowed and tried not to think about that so much.

“Good girl,” Kingsley said.

“Have some tea, Miss Tonks,” Professor McGonagall said a little stiffly, and Harriet jumped. She’d forgotten the others were there, and felt warm with embarrassment.

The tea was hot and very sweet. Harriet drank her cup slowly as Professor Dumbledore and Kingsley talked about affairs at the Ministry, and Professor McGonagall looked through the stack of papers Mister Taylor had left.

Finally, as she was setting her empty cup down, Professor Dumbledore addressed her. “This was not at all what I intended when I began investigating your situation,” he told her. “I had placed yourself with your aunt and uncle because there were unique protections you could receive there which you could find in no other place. My main concern with your current guardians was also with your protection. However, now that the Ministry is involved I must abide by their rules. I am unable to break them.”

“I understand, sir,” Harriet said. “May I go, please?”

“Of course,” he said. “But I must ask before you do, that you do not attempt to send any letters to your family through the Hogwarts post. These, I must confiscate.”

“Alright,” Harriet agreed and stood.

“And I have one last favor to ask of you, though I fear I have already taxed your patience greatly. Auror Shacklebolt memory is not as great as mine, and I would worry if someone did not guide him out our doors.”

“I’ll take him,” Harriet said. She felt stupid not realizing it early, why he was really there out of the other Aurors. “Thank you, sir.”

“Indeed, the thanks are mine,” he said and smiled at her. “Off you go, and please enjoy the rest of your Saturday.”

Harriet and Kingsley made their way out of the office, and he decorously waited to say anything until the door had closed behind them and they had taken their places on the winding stairs.

“I thought Umbridge would never leave,” he told her at once, out of the corner of his mouth. “When Madame Bones told me I had to take her to the Ministry, I wanted to cry.”

“I bet she makes a lot of people feel like that,” Harriet said. “Did Mum and Dad—”

“Yes,” Kingsley said. “I had a late breakfast with them this morning, and your mother asked me to post a particular letter for them. But it slipped my mind.” He winked at her and withdrew a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. “Lucky I happened to run into the recipient.”

He handed it over, and Harriet shoved it into her pocket.

“I was wondering,” Kingsley said as they went past the gargoyle and toward the main staircase, “if you would consider writing to my daughter, Erin. She’ll be coming to Hogwarts in a few years, and has a lot of questions and concerns. I think an older friend here would do her some good.”

Harriet knew this already, of course. Her dad, and then Dora as she got older, had often babysat for the Shacklebolts, and Harriet was friends with Erin and her brother Eric. But she also knew the general rule of the Aurors, which was sometimes called _constant vigilance_ and sometimes _never assume there aren’t spies in the room_ , like when they had been caught eavesdropping on their parents and Eric had ratted them out at once.

“I would be alright with that, sir,” she said.

“Very good,” Kingsley said. “But I’m sorry to say, my daughter isn’t an easy correspondent. She thinks words have power, and sometimes that intimidates her. She’s always proceeding slowly and with caution. You might not get her first letter for a while.”

“Alright,” Harriet said.

They were at the main staircase now, and Kingsley nodded at her. “I think I can find my way from here. You’re free to go.”

The stairs swung around, and a group of Ravenclaws clambered off, then stared at them. Harriet couldn’t tell if they were staring at her and the scar, or Kingsley and the Auror robes, and decided not to stick around to find out. “Bye,” she said, and trotted away, feeling the letter crinkling in her pocket, driving her half-mad with every step.

The knowledge of it was so enthralling that Harriet hardly noticed the stairs and whispers as she made her way back to Gryffindor Tower and closed herself into her bed. Her wand lit up with an obliging Lumos and she peered at the letter, tearing the wax seal carefully.

 _My darling girl_ , her mum’s beautiful handwriting said, _these are trying times indeed. What I would give to have you here with us as we bear them; my arms if anyone would take them, my legs if they would not. But no one is willing to bargain, so all I can do is send you all of my love, in wishes and thoughts and letters like this. I am with you now in spirit, and your Lily mother is with you always in heart._

_You are my wild child, strong in body and soul. I have never lacked faith that you will stand true, and I take comfort in the knowledge that you will find safety and succor in the lions’ den. As I cannot shoulder this weight with you, for I have my own to bear, lean on your valiant friends and let them balance the load._

_Your first mother named you commander, protector, leader. When this name could not shelter you, I named you lightning. When it strikes, it strikes hard and fast; no one can protect against it. Your time is coming, only wait and bide until it arrives. Even now, I am doing my best to hurry it along. Let me be the storm that shelters you while you grow, and who heralds your coming with mighty thunder._

_Should you wish to hear from me again, only remember how I earned your place in our family, and speak that precious word. Should you do so, I will be with you._

_Your father sends his love, and your sister the same. I will echo their words, and add a few of my own—hold your head up, darling, and stand firm against this attack and those indignities and undignified that accost you now because of it. We will all come together again, and be the better for it._

_All of my love, enough to outweigh the stars,_

_Mum_

Crying, Harriet pressed the letter to her chest, and struggled her glasses off. She wanted her mum, and badly, but if her mum thought she could stand this, then Harriet had no choice. She would have to.

* * *

That letter, which Harriet took to carrying around with her, shortly became one of the only things helping her through the worst two months of her life.

Angelina, Katie, and Alicia had leveraged their popularity to get Gryffindor House in order. No one there called her Potter anymore, and they all had great fun mocking the endless newspaper articles the Prophet was churning out. It became a favorite past-time as the weather turned colder and the days marched toward Halloween.

But there was still problems even in Gryffindor. Ron Weasley _hated_ Harriet now, and shunned her and Hermione, with Seamus and Dean following his example. They’d gotten into a furious row the Sunday after the first article, and he’d called her several bad names because she hadn’t told him. Hermione revealing that she’d known Harriet's birth name from the first day of school hadn’t made matters better. Harriet, who was hoping to be his friend, felt deeply upset about this.

Lavender and Parvati were also decidedly cool towards her, and the rest of the school was worse. She was accosted nearly daily, with people asking awful questions, and the one day she’d tried to put on her cover-up cream had gone poorly. Someone had said loudly on the way to Potions that she was ashamed of her first parents and their sacrifice, and Professor Snape, who was passing by, had awarded them three points for solid reasoning.

Harriet had spent lunch weeping bitterly in the first floor girls’ loo, reading over and over again _your Lily mother is with you always in heart._

Not even Quidditch practice could make her feel all the way better, no matter how Harriet savored those three nights a week she could float through the air and play broomstick tag, or chase after golf balls. Always, at the end, she had to go back to the tower and suffer through the slog back to safe territory.

Even receiving a new broomstick had been spoiled. Professor McGonagall had presented it to her all wrapped in brown paper, with no note, and Harriet had taken it straight back to the dorm and whispered hopefully at the wrappings. But they remained stubbornly blank, and she wept at that, too, feeling unable to stop herself.

By the day of Halloween, Harriet was feeling thoroughly sick of everything. Halloween, in her opinion, was the worst day of the year, and everyone else being in a very festive mood did nothing to help her. Only Hermione seemed to understand.

Hermione, in general, had been very understanding.

She was constantly tugging Harriet away from nasty remarks, and putting silly notes in the margins of Harriet's notebooks, and scolding people who called Harriet by the wrong name. She lugged around huge law books about child welfare and legal slander, and explained to Harriet in small words what those books said.

By the end of September, Harriet loved her dearly. By the end of October, she was the only person Harriet could stand to be around for any length of time.

Halloween morning was stormy and raucous with rain and thunder. Gryffindor Tower shook with the force of it. It was the perfect weather to stay burrowed under her blankets and ignore the whole day.

The air stank of roasting pumpkins. Hermione pulled back the bed hangings, and ignored Harriet's sulky face. “You can’t stay here all day,” she said firmly. “Come on, get up! Professor Flitwick said we get to learn levitation today, and I’ll never forgive you if you miss it.”

“Fine,” Harriet groaned, and hauled herself out of bed.

Parvati and Lavender were crowded around the loo mirrors, doing their hair up in exaggerated swoops and shoving impractical decorations into the massive stacks.

“My mummy sent my costume from home,” Parvati was saying as she clipped a bat into her hair. “She wouldn’t tell me what it was, but I hope it’s not matching with Padma’s. That would be so tacky. We’re not even in the same House.”

Lavender said, trying to be charitable, “Are you dressing up for the feast, Hermione?”

“No,” Hermione said at once.

“Oh,” Lavender said. “Well, what about you, Harriet?”

“I already dress up as a witch every day,” Harriet said, and tried to scrape her hair back into a mangled braid.

Now both of them were making faces at her. “But you have to do _something_ ,” Parvati said. “Everyone else is going to!”

Harriet wanted very badly to say, ‘Everyone else doesn’t have to celebrate the day their parents died horrible deaths,’ but Hermione shot her a look in the mirror as she came after Harriet with a comb. Harriet swallowed it back down. “I don’t feel like celebrating,” she said, instead.

“Well, what about just one bat?” Lavender said hopefully. “My sister charmed them herself.”

The bat she was holding squeaked.

“No, thanks,” Harriet said.

That wouldn't have been the end of it, except suddenly Parvati, who had been trying to charm another lock of hair into place, gave a cry. They turned to look, and Harriet snickered at the piece of hair, which was now sticking straight out and resisting all attempts to go right.

"Oh, it's _Hairus Stickus_ ," Lavender cried, dropping the bat. "Not _Stickus Hairus_!"

There was no better moment. Harriet made her escape, dragging along Hermione, who had been watching in horror.

She ate little at breakfast, and barely paid any attention in Defense. Quirell stuttered so hard that she couldn’t understand half the words he used, and she came out with a raging headache. It was only Hermione's silent vibrating intensity at lunch that really brought her out of thoughts.

“You can be excited, you know,” she said to her quietly. “I won’t be mad. I’m a little excited too.”

Hermione let her breath out in a burst. “It’s just so fascinating!” she exclaimed. “The wand work is the basis for so many other—”

“Oh no,” Ron groaned exaggeratedly to Dean and Seamus. “There she goes again.”

He was close enough to them Harriet could kick him under the table, and she took a great joy in doing so. “Shut up,” she said when he cried out. He grumbled, but Professor McGonagall was already looking down from the teachers’ table, and he didn’t say anything else.

Hermione hadn’t even noticed. “—and I expect we’ll be using it as a stepping stone at least through our third year,” she finished, and beamed.

“Probably,” Harriet agreed. “Look, let’s go early. So we can get good seats at the front.”

“But you didn’t eat much,” Hermione said, frowning.

“I’m waiting for the feast,” Harriet lied. “Dora's spent seven years raving on about it.”

“Well, alright,” Hermione said, and gathered up her bag.

They weren’t the only one who got there early; Professor Flitwick was just swinging open the doors as they arrived.

“Well, hello!” he cried when he saw them. “Come in, come in!”

They were putting their bags down when he came over and said to Harriet in a much more somber voice, “I’m very sorry for you loss, Miss Tonks. Your parents were exceptional people, and the world is worse for the lack of them.”

Harriet, who had avoided crying all day, teared up. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

“Of course,” he said. “I imagine today is quite a difficult day for you.”

“It’s been hard, sir,” Harriet said. She had only intended to say that she was fine, but Professor Flitwick had a way of looking at you, which made it clear he wasn’t thinking of something else, or waiting his turn to speak, but only listening intently to what you were saying.

“Yes, it would be,” he said kindly. “Everyone seems very intent on celebrating this year. In fact, the Charms club has been conscripted to decorate the Great Hall. Miss Tonks, if I may be so bold as to presume, you seem the kind of person to benefit from doing something instead of sitting idle.”

Having spent the last two months obsessing over her school work and Quidditch training, Harriet felt rather exposed and said nothing.

“If this is the case,” Professor Flitwick went on, “then you are more than welcome to join us this afternoon.” He must have seen how tense Harriet was, because he added, “My mother always called this a work-cure, and you are not the first student I have prescribed it to. Little is soothing about idle hands and racing thoughts.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harriet said. “I’ll think about it.”

“Of course,” he said, and gave a little bow. “I will leave you now, and go about my own work. Alas, preparing for class is less ‘cure’ and more ‘curse’.”

Hermione, who had been bustling next to Harriet, trying to disguise her eavesdropping, said at once, “We should go!”

“Maybe,” Harriet said. “Let’s see how class goes.”

“Oh, alright,” Hermione said, but she couldn’t sulk for long. Soon other students were trickling in, and then flooding in, and then the class was full, ten whole minutes before the bell.

“Well!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed. “Such bright and eager faces! I suppose there is no harm in starting early.”

Seamus cheered.

“However,” Professor Flitwick said, and cast a glance around the room, “first I believe we should rearrange our seats a little.”

“No,” Hermione whispered, and grabbed Harriet's hand. “He wouldn’t.”

He would.

“Today, you’ll be working with assigned partners!” he squeaked from his regular stack of books. “I have the list right here! And no arguing, because I shan’t be changing my mind.”

Harriet put her head down on her desk, and listened with only half an ear. When Professor Flitwick announced, “Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger!” she winced, and when he cried, “Harriet Tonks and Seamus Finnigan!” she groaned. Seamus was nice enough when he was away from Ron, but he liked to blow things up far too much.

Professor Flitwick passed out feathers as they all shuffled into new seats. “Happy Halloween,” Seamus told Harriet, grinning maniacally.

“Yeah,” Harriet said. “I guess.”

Professor Flitwick went over the wand motions again, stressing that they were equally important as the incantation, and then spelled out the words on the board, and they spent several minutes on their own trying to pronounce them.

“I think I’ve got it,” Seamus said at last. “Here, let me try.” He raised his wand, flailed his arm, and cried out, “Wingardium Leviosaaarggghhhhhh!”

The feather burst into flames with the first word, and exploded with the second. Harriet ducked under her desk and barely caught any of it, but Seamus took the full brunt to the face. He was coughing madly when she came back up.

“Professor,” Harriet called, patting Seamus on the back, “I think we need a new feather.”

In the row behind them, Hermione and Ron were having just as much trouble. Harriet listened to them with concern as Professor Flitwick lectured Seamus.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Hermione was saying. “It’s Wing- _gar_ -dium Levi- _o_ -sa. Make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”

Harriet thought this was very sensible advice, and scribbled it down in her notebook. But Ron was having none of it.

“You do it then, if you’re so clever,” he snapped.

Harriet craned her head back over her shoulder and saw Hermione push up her sleeves, and perform the spell neatly. The feather rose obligingly and hovered above their heads. Several people caught sight of it and clapped.

“Well done!” Professor Flitwick cried. “Very good, Miss Granger!”

Harriet caught Hermione's eye and they grinned at each other. Harriet was even more determined now, and turned back to her feather with grim concentration.

By the end of class, several more people had managed to make their feathers fly as well. Harriet had managed to send hers up several feet, before she had to let Seamus have a turn and he burnt it up again. After that, their practice was over. Professor Flitwick then had Harriet work with Seamus on the proper wand movement.

“I wouldn’t have napped in class if I knew it was going to be _this_ important,” he grumbled, but gave it another try.

Behind them, Harriet could hear Ron and Hermione bickering faintly. They were both in foul moods by the time Professor Flitwick let them leave, and Harriet, trudging silently next to Hermione, was in the perfect place to hear Ron say to Dean, nastily, “I’m surprised she’s got even the one friend. Granger’s a bloody nightmare.”

Hermione stilled.

“And I bet if Potter wasn’t so grateful someone was willing to pretend she didn’t hate her real parents, Granger wouldn’t have _any_ friends,” Ron went on and stalked away.

Dean had noticed them there, and shot them an uncomfortable look. Harriet scowled at him, and turned to Hermione, who was standing as still as a statue. Harriet touched her sleeve, and was alarmed to see tears rising in Hermione's eyes.

And then Hermione was running, ducking around the few remaining students and disappearing down the corridor. Harriet swore, and took off after her. But she wasn’t fast enough; there was no sign of her anywhere.

Ron however, was lingering with Dean while they waited for Seamus. Harriet stomped over to him, so angry she could barely breathe. ‘Git’ didn’t seem like a strong enough word for the situation and ‘idiot’ was likewise too mild. Harriet also thought just punching him wouldn’t get the point across. She raked her memory, and came up with something her dad had shouted in traffic once, which had been immediately followed by the heavy bribe of several Nancy Drews and an ice cream cone.

“Ronald Weasley!” she cried and watched him jump. He whirled around to face her, and Harriet smacked him square across the face.

A hush fell in the corridor.

“You’re an _asshole_ ,” Harriet spit. “And _you’re_ a nightmare! And anyone who lets you say something so awful about someone else when that person is right behind you is just as bad!”

Ron paled, and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Someone whispered, “The Professor’s coming!”

Harriet went grey, herself. It had been very satisfying slapping Ron, and just as exciting saying that word out loud, but the last thing she wanted was another detention. She scrambled away, ducking behind several older students, and came out behind a tapestry on another floor entirely. There hadn’t even been any stairs, she thought in astonishment.

Panting, trying to catch her breath, Harriet leaned against the wall and thought about where Hermione would go. The dorms seemed like an obvious choice, except Lavender and Parvati would be headed there to dress for the feast.

She also couldn’t cry in the library—Madame Pince would throw her out.

No, she would go somewhere quiet, and private. Where else did they spend time? Harriet frantically raked her brain and felt like an idiot when she realized.

* * *

“You know,” Harriet said slowly, and kicked her heels in the air, “we spend an awful lot of time in this bathroom.”

Hermione, weeping in one of the stalls, didn’t answer.

Harriet sighed and adjusted her seat on the edge of the sink so the faucet didn’t dig quite so hard in her back. The bathroom was very dimly lit, and vaguely wet under some of the pipes, and not at all comfortable, except that it somehow was. Hermione certainly didn’t seem to have any complaints—she’d been tucked in one of the stalls for several hours now, crying.

“Do you want me to tell you how I smacked him, again?” she tried. “His whole cheek went red, and he looked like a right idiot.”

Hermione made a very soggy negative noise.

“If you come out,” Harriet tried, “I can show you in interpretive dance.”

Hermione made another noise, which could be loosely interpreted as a refusal.

“Oh, alright,” Harriet said, and went back to kicking her heels. She looked around the room again, which was echoing with Hermione's miserable tears. Something dripped.

Someone tried the door, and when it didn’t open, knocked very timidly. Harriet had locked it shortly after a sixth year Hufflepuff had spent more time staring between Harriet and the stall than washing her hands, and hadn’t let anyone in since.

“Sorry,” she called towards it. “Meeting room’s occupied. Got to hammer out that budget, you know.”

From the general direction of the door came a very confused, “Um.”

Harriet threw herself off the sink at once, and scrambled to pull the door open. “Hi, Sally-Anne,” she said brightly. “Didn’t know it was you out there.”

“Um,” Sally-Anne said in a higher tone.

“No, there’s not actually a meeting,” Harriet said. “Hermione's having a cry and it wasn’t very dignified having someone use the loo at the same time.”

Sally-Anne shot Harriet a glance, and peered around her into the bathroom. Hermione's sobs ratcheted up a notch.

“I haven’t got to use the loo?” she said in a very small voice.

“You can come in, then,” Harriet said and flung the door wider. “I’ve been sitting on the sink, counting tiles.” She very carefully locked it again, once Sally-Anne passed through.

Sally-Anne offered her a very small smile. She was taller than Harriet, and had a much easier time leveraging herself onto a sink, where she perched contentedly.

Harriet took a moment to rap on the door of Hermione's stall. “Sally-Anne’s here,” she told her. “Don’t worry if you hear weird noises; we’re going to practice that interpretive dance now.”

Hermione hiccupped, and went back to crying.

Sally-Anne was looking at Harriet curiously now. “Are you going to do a dance?” she asked.

“I might,” Harriet said and took several moments to get herself back onto the sink. Being short was _miserable_. “I smacked Ron earlier after he was awful to Hermione, and if Hermione ever comes out I want to re-enact it for her. I’ll introduce you, too, so long as you promise not to mention how soggy she is."

Sally-Anne let out a giggle, then glanced fretfully towards the stalls.

“No, you can laugh,” Harriet said easily. “She’s mostly crying now because she hasn’t figured out how stop yet. It’s like spelling the end of banana. It’s tricky, but she’ll get it eventually.”

Hermione made a water-logged and affirming noise.

“See?” Harriet said.

Sally-Anne looked reassured. Then she glanced around, as if having to absolutely make sure no one else was there, and said, “I can dance, you know. If, if you want some help.”

“Really?” Harriet asked. “That’d be brilliant.”

Sally-Anne glanced around again, then pulled off her shoes. On the cool bathroom floor, she pirouetted gracefully for several moments, then came out of it to leap across the floor, landing lightly.

Harriet grinned. “That’s wicked,” she said. “You do ballet?”

Sally-Anne nodded, and kicked her shoes aside as she leaned against her sink. “I was going to go to the Royal Ballet School for it,” she said, “but then I got my letter. And ballet is wonderful, but magic? It’s brilliant.”

“I know what you mean,” Harriet said at once. “Sometimes I think some of the pureblood kids don’t really appreciate it enough.”

They shared a smile.

“Anyway,” Sally-Anne said, “if you pretend to slap me, here get down and try, I can turn away like that really dramatically.”

Harriet obligingly fell off the sink, and after peeling off her own shoes, she and Sally-Anne spent several giggling minutes rehearsing. Harriet, laughing madly as Sally-Anne gracefully keeled over, might have missed the hammering on the door, except it went on and on instead of giving up.

Finally, a voice she vaguely recognized said, “Open the bloody door, Tonks! I’m not going to make the walk if I’ve got to find another place.”

Sally-Anne paled, and clung to the back of Harriet's shirt as she went to the door. “Who is it?” she whispered as Harriet cracked the door open.

Millicent Bulstrode scowled at them. “Bathroom’s closed,” Harriet said firmly.

“I’m going to piss myself,” Millicent said, threateningly.

“Oh, let her in!” Sally-Anne said, and pulled fretfully at Harriet's sleeve. “She won’t be awful.” And then, strictly, “Don’t be awful, Milly, please.”

“I’ll be civil so’s long I get to piss in a toilet,” Millicent said, “and not the floor like a savage.” Harriet couldn’t argue with that; they stepped back and let her in, and as the door swung closed Harriet turned to Sally-Anne.

“How do you know her?” she asked.

Millicent, from inside the stall next to Hermione’s, said loudly, “We shared a pot in Herbology. Perks isn’t so bad.”

Sally-Anne smiled widely, as if this was a compliment of the highest order.

Companionably, they leaned against the sinks. “I bet Milly would help with our dance,” Sally-Anne said. “She can do the narration.”

Millicent, who was busy banging on the wall between the stalls, said to Hermione, “Drowned yet, Granger?”

Hermione made an aggravated noise.

“Guess not, then,” Millicent said, and flushed her toilet. Standing at the sink, washing her hands, she stared unabashedly at Harriet's scar. “Lift your hair up, would you?” she asked. “I want to see the whole thing. Never get the chance in potions.”

Sally-Anne looked concerned, but Harriet only laughed. No one had ever asked her outright instead of staring and whispering, and she obligingly lifted her fringe so Millicent could look.

She let out a low whistle. “He got you good,” she said easily. “Must have bled like a sonuva—”

“Milly!” Sally-Anne squeaked.

There was no one there to scold. Harriet said, “Bitch?” and endeavored to look innocent when Sally-Anne rounded on her, scandalized.

Then they all paused, because in the lone occupied stall, Hermione let out a damp giggle.

Harriet whirled on Millicent, eyebrows raised. She was grinning. “Let me guess,” she said, “Weasley was being an ass again?”

“A right bastard,” Harriet said. Hermione was laughing now, a noise only slightly less damp than her crying.

“Oh, stop!” Sally-Anne cried, pressing her hands to her flaming red cheeks. This only made it funnier, and Harriet thought Sally-Anne might have known that, because she said desperately, “Ladies aren’t supposed to swear.”

Millicent made a show of looking under the sinks, and Harriet pushed her glasses up and scrutinized the far corners of the ceiling.

“No ladies here,” she declared. “Millicent?”

“None,” she said, satisfied. “Only one genuine sonuvabitch and—”

“—a right awful bastard of the highest order,” Harriet finished.

Sally-Anne squeaked, but it was hard to hear over Hermione's mad laughter. Finally, the stall door creaked open and she stepped out, eyes red and cheeks striped with tear-tracks, but clutching at her stomach with the force of her laughter.

“You’re both awful!” Sally-Anne said, and went to put her hands over Hermione's ears. “Don’t listen to them,” she said in a loud stage whisper.

“Oh, come on,” Millicent said. “We haven’t even said anything really bad yet, like—”

The door didn’t creak open this time; it slammed against the wall hard enough to rend it into splinters.

Harriet was moving before she realized, putting herself between the others and—a troll? She stared, stunned, unable to believe it.

The troll stared back, and raised a hand to scratch its bald head. Finally, it waggled its ears, and slouched into the room, bringing with it the most awful stench Harriet had ever smelled. It must have been nearly thirteen feet tall, which was a lot of creature to smell very bad.

“Fuck,” Millicent said, but very quietly.

Out of the corner of her mouth, Harriet said, “Get them back.”

There was the rapid shuffle of several people retreating. This seemed to confuse the troll, who had expected screaming and running, and it looked absent-mindedly at them, then growled.

“Oh no,” Harriet said, and fumbled for her wand.

The troll seemed to hear this, and turned its small, runny eyes towards her. Slowly, it raised its huge, pitted club, and whacked a sink off of the wall with a shatter and a spray of water. When Harriet didn’t run away wailing, which was the only response it might have understood, it did it again, advancing down the line of sinks.

“Harriet!” Hermione screamed. “Get out of the way!”

The troll wrenched its attention from Harriet, and looked towards the noise. Harriet risked a glance over her back, and saw them all crouching inside the farthest stall, Millicent holding Hermione tightly in place.

The troll seemed to consider, than raised its club as if to throw it.

A noise tore itself out of Harriet's throat before it could, and she slashed her wand through the air. Spells had escaped her; hot and glowing sparks flew through the air and caught the troll across its face. For a moment, everything was still, and then the troll bellowed and reached for its face, smacking itself with its own club, which only seemed to enrage it further.

Harriet skidded back very quickly, and let herself be crammed into the stall. Sally-Anne, perched on the toilet, peered over the edge at the troll. “It’s very angry,” she said so calmly that Harriet immediately became concerned.

“We should go _now_ ,” Hermione hissed.

“Under the stalls,” Millicent said. “Quick, Perks, get down from there.”

Something in the first stall dripped. The troll, face black with ash and eyes tightly closed, whirled around and smashed it. The toilet sent porcelain flying in a shattered storm, and the wooden door and walls crumbled.

“Did you know,” Sally-Anne said in that same, calm tone. “My mummy bought me a book about magical creatures. She said it was a birthday present.”

Millicent, sweating wildly, picked her up about the waist and put her on the floor with them. “Very nice,” she said. “I should like to borrow it, _if we live_.”

“It said,” Sally-Anne told them almost dreamily, “trolls have very good hearing. It’s why their ears are so big.”

Hermione and Harriet had been peering around the door, and Hermione raced to the conclusion before Harriet could even come close. “It’s blind,” she said in a whisper. “The sparks must have hit its eyes.”

“Take off your shoes,” Harriet said at once. Nothing was louder than formal shoes on stone floors. “Millicent, ‘Mione, take them off!”

There was a hurried struggle,and several elbows were thrown. Harriet kept watch around the edge of the door, as the troll smashed several sinks in one go. When it turned toward them as the shoes dropped to the floor, she rallied.

“This is going to be so hard,” she said, and slipped out of the stall. She heard Hermione's muffled cry, but didn’t chance a look behind herself; she was already waving her wand and only daring to whisper the words. A chunk of porcelain separated itself from the rest and rose. Harriet sent it flying to shatter on the far wall.

The troll turned, and smashed the stones, roaring. The wall shook, but held. Harriet crept forward, and selected another piece, which shattered where the first toilet stall had been.

Someone behind her hurled a piece with a cricket player’s deadly speed and accuracy, and Harriet glanced back to see Sally-Anne’s pale face. She nodded at Harriet, and raised her hand in sign. Hermione and Millicent started creeping out of the stall. They edged their way towards the door.

But one of them must have slipped in the water, and one of the taps clattered with a ringing echo. The troll turned, and groaning darkly, flung its club.

The world eclipsed. Harriet was screaming something, her wand raised, and she saw Hermione doing the same. The club arrested mid-air.

Several more pieces of porcelain shattered—Millicent and Sally-Anne were trying to direct the troll towards the door now. Weaponless, the troll stumbled and picked up the remains of the toilet.

Harriet hissed, and cancelled her spell, trusting Hermione to keep the club airborne. “Aim for its head!” she screamed. “You’ll know when!”

And then she was turning, nearly slipping in the lakes of water, but Sally-Anne grabbed her arm and righted her, and they were dashing as silently as they could past the confused troll, who swung to try and grab them. The toilet fell, and was no more.

Something hit the ceiling and exploded, and he turned his face upwards. Millicent sent another chunk of sink flying, and Harriet changed the hold on her wand. “If it gets that club back, we’re dead,” she told Sally-Anne. “Listen, the incantation is _Locomotor Wibbly_. Move your wand like this,” and she showed her briefly. “We’ll cast it together.”

“On three,” she said. Sally-Anne looked pale but serious; she nodded determinedly.

“One!” Harriet said.

The club swayed alarmingly.

“Two!” she said.

Another chunk of porcelain missed the ceiling, and Harriet watched in horror as it shattered right on the wall above them. The troll started to turn, its ears flapping.

Cringing under the rain of shards, Harriet cried, “Three!”

Their voices were indistinguishable. “ _Locomotor Wibbly_!” echoed around the room. The troll slowed, and started to pitch over, throwing its arms out to catch itself.

The club, swung by a masterful hand, crashed into the back of its head, and it pitched forward onto its face. Sally-Anne and Harriet, crammed against the wall, grabbed each other as warm and slow breath wafted rankly across their ankles.

Millicent and Hermione were running across the room, scrambling over the detritus. “Did I kill it?” Hermione cried, face white.

“It’s breathing,” Harriet said flatly.

There was a thunderous noise outside in the corridor. Harriet hoped desperately it wasn’t another troll; she didn’t think she had it in her to fight another one. Her legs were starting to feel very unsteady, and she and Sally-Anne were now clutching each other to stay upright.

And then several of the teachers were tearing into the room. All the Heads of House, and Quirrell in the rear. Quirrell was very pale, Harriet noted almost absurdly, and he sank onto the floor, breathing heavily, when he saw the room.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Professor Flitwick and Snape made their way at once to the troll, and began casting several spells. They glittered in the air, and Harriet only tore her gaze away when Professor Sprout took her by the shoulders and steered her out of the room.

Millicent, Sally-Anne, and Hermione were already standing in the corridor, huddled together. Professor McGonagall stood before them, her face white except for two high red spots on her cheeks. She waited until Harriet had joined them, grabbing at Hermione's hand, before the professor burst out furious, “What were you thinking!”

The hallway rang. “We gave very specific instructions—go directly back to your dormitories! We did not once say, ‘Seek out the troll!’ We could not have been clearer!”

They stared at her wildly.

“Well?” she demanded. “What idiotic reason have you for hunting down a creature that could have _easily killed you_!”

They all started to speak at once.

“I’m not supposed to eat any sweets, but they all looked so terribly good, so I left and—”

“I had to use the loo! No one told me that was punishable with death by troll!”

“Hermione was crying, and I was trying to get her to stop—”

“Please, Professor, why didn’t anyone tell us there was a troll?” Hermione cried, clutching at Harriet's arm with one hand and Sally Anne’s with the other.

“Yeah!” Millicent said, bolstered. “I’d have buggered the rules and used the boy’s loo if I’d known! That smell can keep anything out!”

Professor McGonagall looked like she was going to be ill. Professor Sprout, eyes wide, demanded just as the others came out of the bathroom, “You mean to say _none_ of you were at the feast?”

“We left before it was over,” Millicent said. “Tonks and Granger weren’t there at all.”

“Pomona,” Professor Flitwick said gravely, “we had better finish this in the hospital wing. They’re all bleeding.”

Confused, the four of them traded glances. Harriet was sure none of them had been hit.

Professor McGonagall was the color of milk now. She grabbed at Professor Sprout. Even Snape seemed alarm.

“No, we’re not,” Harriet said. “We were very careful!” Had _Professor Flitwick_ been hit by the troll?

“Miss Tonks,” he said very gently, “I have no doubt there was a good reason all of you took off your shoes when fighting in piles of shattered porcelain, but you will have to wait to tell us until you have been seen by the matron in the Hospital Wing.”

Harriet looked down, and swayed. She thought the water had flooded into the corridor, but while some of it had, it hadn’t reached as far as them. The floor felt wet because they were all standing into a puddle of blood.

“Oh,” she said, feeling faint. Sally-Anne made a tiny noise. The three of them grabbed for her at once.

Snape had conjured several stretchers, and directed Harriet onto the first one in a flat voice. Harriet, staring in trepidation at her own feet as she was lifted on, noticed at once that he was bleeding as well. She looked up to say something, but he was already moved onto Sally-Anne, whose mouth was wobbling alarmingly.

“It’ll be alright,” Harriet said instead, feeling strongly fond of Sally-Anne, and Millicent, and Hermione all at once. Something in her chest squirmed and relaxed at once. “We’ll be fine, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo, this was a long one! and i finally got to write the scene i started this whole frickin story for!
> 
> hope you guys like it just as much as i liked writing it!
> 
> and i almost forgot to add! there's an outtake up on my [ magic world aesthetics blog](http://spindle-and-distaff.tumblr.com/). check for the "old ashe road au" tag.


	5. Chapter 5

As much as Harriet liked the Headmaster, she was getting rather tired of seeing him. She was _sure_ Dora had never spoken to him more than a handful of times in her seven years, and Harriet was not pleased to beat the record.

Sprawled out on the infirmary bed, she stared at the ceiling and listened to Hermione's quiet voice telling him, “And then I dropped it on his head and knocked him out, sir.”

“Ingenious,” Professor Dumbledore said. “I could not have come up with a more masterful plan myself. I must commend all four of you for thinking quickly on your feet, and using all of your advantages.”

Harriet didn’t need to raise her head to see how Hermione was beaming; she could feel the force of it two beds away. “Thank you, sir,” Hermione said politely. “It was really a group effort.”

“Of this, I have no doubt,” Professor Dumbledore said. He clapped his hands very gently. “I think the awarding of points is in order.”

“Yes,” Millicent said loudly, and Harriet, struggling to sit up without using her feet, saw her punch the air.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “To Slytherin, for loyally following friends into certain danger, I give twenty points.”

“To Hufflepuff, for both possessing knowledge, and applying it wisely, I give twenty points.”

“And to Gryffindor, for cunning thought and sheer fortitude, I give forty points.”

Somewhere out there, Harriet thought, rubies were tinkling down into the bottom of an hourglass. It almost made fighting a troll worth it, to have won her first House Points.

“Now,” Professor Dumbledore said, “if you have no more questions or comments for me, I believe we had best get onto the most serious business of the night. Madame Pomfrey has assured me that your feet are healing well, but she wishes to keep all of you overnight, and I loathe to go against her advice. But as I understand it, two of you missed the feast, and two were not there for our resplendent final course.”

Carefully, he stood from his chair and with his wand conjured a delicate table into existence. On top of the pale metal latticework, he made a tablecloth more lace than cloth, and several empty golden platters. Then, he turned to smile at them all. “If you would, Miss Perks,” he said. “What is your favorite dessert?”

Sally-Anne fidgeted with her sheets. “I’m not supposed to have sweets, sir,” she said. “I’m supposed to stay at dancing weight.”

“You’ve fought a troll tonight, my dear,” Professor Dumbledore said easily. “I believe the transgression can be forgiven, just this once.”

“Oh, well, um, lemon bars, sir,” she squeaked. “Only, the kind from a box?”

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “Of course,” he said, and rapped one plate smartly with his wand. Golden lemon bars sprung up and stacked themselves neatly.

“Miss Bulstrode?” he asked.

“Black forest cake, sir,” she said at once.

This too appeared, shimmering into existence.

“Miss Granger?”

“Tiramisu, please,” Hermione said.

It winked into place, wobbling gently.

“And Miss Tonks?”

Harriet stared at the plates. It was still Halloween. “Candied orange peels, sir,” she said, “and peanut butter cookies, please.”

Another platter obligingly filled itself. “Your parents’ favorites, I believe,” he said. “More than once in the months before your birth, James Potter called here to beg the recipe for those oranges from the House Elves. I believe they eventually entrusted it to one of your mother’s friends.”

Harriet stared at him, not daring to ask him to go on, but desperately wishing he would. He sighed a little, and said, “I will not wish you a Happy Halloween, my dear. I will only say that I am glad you are safe.”

Then Professor Dumbledore stood and bowed at them. As he did, the rest of the platters filled themselves with steaming food, and pumpkin juice and milk and hot chocolate splashing into the carafes. “Eat, and be merry!” he told them. “Would it be that there is endless time for that, not just when one is young. Goodnight, children.”

“Good night, sir,” Harriet called with the rest.

As soon as the doors swung shut, they scrambled onto the nearest two beds to the table. No one dared put their feet on the floor for long; they still ached and burned, but the feeling of it lessened as they filled plates and passed around utensils.

“I’m starving,” Millicent said, heaving a second dinner onto her plate. “Fighting a troll really takes it out of you. I don’t know why those troll trainers go around looking half-starved all the time.”

“The smell, probably,” Hermione said. “Here, Harriet, milk or pumpkin juice?”

“Pumpkin juice,” Harriet said, and put an orange piece in her mouth. The sugar grated roughly. She closed her eyes. It tasted like home, like nine previous Halloweens spent sitting on the kitchen floor, watching her dad make cookies while her mum shouted from the brewing room in a cackling voice, “Bubble! Bubble! Toil and trouble!” as she candied enough peels to make themselves sick on.

“You know,” Hermione said as she scooped up her mashed potatoes, “is it silly that when the troll came in, all I could think was, ‘I never ate dinner,’?”

“I thought that I should have stayed for a second round of dessert,” Millicent said. “Perks?”

“It’s funny,” Sally-Anne said slowly and put down her fork. “I didn’t really think at all. It seemed like there wasn’t time for it.”

Harriet swallowed. “My uncle’s an Auror,” she said. “And he was in the war. He told me about it a little, and how you can’t think until afterwards, when the fight's over. Like when the teachers came and our legs got all wobbly.”

“Adrenaline,” Hermione said knowingly. “I read somewhere it keeps you from feeling pain, too.”

Millicent stared. “Is that a spell?” she asked. “Sounds useful if I’m going to be hanging around with you lot.”

Sally-Anne giggled, and Hermione looked horrified. “It’s a chemical.” Millicent looked blank. Hermione sighed, and added, “And a drug.”

“You’re doing drugs, Granger? Knew there was a reason I liked you!”

Harriet snorted. “It’s a Muggle drug,” she said before Hermione exploded with indignation. “Everyone has it in their heads, and there's more when someone’s scared.”

Millicent was fascinated now. “Muggles are weird,” she declared, looking delighted with the knowledge.

Feeling mischievous, Harriet leaned over and told her, “It’s in your head, too.”

“Is not!” she said at once.

“Is too!”

“I’m going to send for my science books,” Hermione said bossily, stopping them with a look. “You can read them so Harriet stops giving you bad ideas.”

Harriet made a face at her, and Hermione made a face back.

By the time they finished dinner, they were all feeling very sleepy, which Hermione explained between yawns was because of the adrenaline, too. By the time Madame Pomfrey swept in and chided them back into their own beds, Harriet felt like an expert on the subject. With the sheets pulled up to her chin, she thought lazily about everything that had happened that day.

She’d been very angry, then very frightened, and now she was very tired, so much she could barely keep her eyes open. “Hermione,” she said in a whisper at the blurry bed to her left, and yawned hugely.

“She’s asleep,” Millicent whispered back.

“Oh.”

“What is it?”

“I just wanted to ask her, does she think we’ll all be friends now? Because I’d like that.”

“You can’t fight a troll together and not be friends, Tonks. It’s a Hogwarts rule.”

Sally-Anne’s whisper came from Harriet's other side. “Shut up, Susanandhannah,” she groaned, and rolled over.

Harriet smiled, and tucked her face down against her pillow.

“Shut up, Tonks,” Millicent said companionably.

“Shut up, Bulstrode.”

* * *

The morning was bright and sunny. Harriet squinted against it and poked at her breakfast. “Eat that, Miss Tonks,” Madame Pomfrey said as she clacked past. “Skipping breakfast never did anyone a drop of good.”

“When can we leave?” Millicent asked plaintively, letting grey oatmeal slop from her spoon. “We’ve got to get dressed for class.”

“Classes have been cancelled for today,” Madame Pomfrey told her. “The teachers are busy investigating how a troll got into the school. And since you won’t be missing anything, I have half a mind to keep you all another day.”

Sally-Anne gave a little groan.

“I should think you’d be grateful to the person who pulled thirty-four pieces of tile from your feet, Miss Perks,” Madame Pomfrey said tartly and went back to her office.

Harriet was rather pleased with this announcement. “So long as I’m in here,” she said cheerful, “no one can stare at me and ask dumb questions.”

“Shut up, Tonks,” Millicent groaned. “No one else wants to stay.”

“She won’t even let me go get _one_ book,” Hermione said fervently.

“It’s bound to be all over the school we fought a troll,” Harriet said. “And I’m not keen to talk to anyone about it.”

“Then you can come with me back to Slytherin,” Millicent said, and shoved her tray away. “No one talks to any of the first years there, just stares at them with their noses up. Did you know, Dark Magic makes _disgusting_ nostrils run in the family?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Hermione said. “But inbreeding might.”

Sally-Anne gagged. “It’s so nice in Hufflepuff,” she told them. “Everyone is very kind to us first-years, and I haven’t gotten lost once without a Hufflepuff showing me where to go.”

“Badgers,” Millicent coughed.

“And,” Sally-Anne said loudly, “we all play games together on the weekend, when everyone has done their homework.”

“I wish we did that,” Harriet told her. “All there is in Gryffindor is chess, and I’m pants at it.”

“Don’t you always have Quidditch practice, Harriet?” Hermione demanded.

“ _Don’t_ remind me,” Harriet said, and shoved her tray away, too. “The match is in a week!”

“You’re the mystery player everyone’s been yammering about?” Millicent asked, looking delighted, her eyes squinted up as she grinned. “We’re going to flatten you!”

Harriet threw a pillow at her.

“None of that, please!” came loudly from the office.

“I don’t know how she even does that,” Millicent said, and shoved the pillow behind herself. “Even my mum’s monitoring spells aren’t that good.”

“Please, Madame Pomfrey!” Hermione called. “I’ll go straight to the library and then come right back!”

She came out of the office looking irritated. “I have never had such trouble-makers,” she said, something Harriet was sure was a blatant lie. “Feet, all of you!”

Obligingly, they squirmed to the ends of their beds and propped their bare feet up on the footboards. Madame Pomfrey went down the line of them, looking intently through her glasses, and sighed when she reached Sally-Anne.

“Very well,” she said, and waved her wand. Their uniforms, taken away to be laundered and mended the night before, flew out of one of the cupboards in neat stacks. “All of you may get dressed and leave. Your things have no doubt been returned to your dormitories, and please, do not give any reason to come here again.”

“There’s no shoes!” Sally-Anne said, sorting through her clothes.

Madame Pomfrey gave her a grim look. “Likely there was not a cobbler on staff last night,” she told them. “I have no doubt they will be returned in good time, and walking to your dormitories in stocking feet once will not kill you.”

“Yes, Madame,” said Sally-Anne meekly.

With another flick of the wand, their curtains fluttered closed. Harriet dressed quickly, and tugged on her socks with a grin. Some of the corridors looked perfect for sliding on, and she hadn’t been brave enough to try it until now.

“Let’s take the long way back to the Tower,” she called to Hermione. “The Charms corridor’s always slippery, even in shoes.”

“Tonks, you rogue,” Millicent said. “I’m going to invite myself along. The dungeons don’t sound nearly as fun.”

“You’re going to crack your heads open,” Hermione said.

“Hardly have to talk to anyone if I do,” Harriet said cheerfully. “Sally-Anne?”

“No,” she said at once. “I want to write my mummy and tell her how useful that book was.”

“You’re not going to tell her about the troll, are you?” Hermione asked, sounding very disapproving.

“No!” Sally-Anne said at once. “I’ll just mention it helped me in Defense.”

“Smart,” Millicent said. “My mum and dad would go spare.”

Madame Pomfrey was talking to someone in her office. She came back out as they were all readying to leave, and said, “Miss Tonks, you’ve missed the mail. Your Head of House was nice enough to forward it along.”

There was a crisp letter, and a battered package wrapped in brown paper. Both smelled strongly of Floo powder. The package was very slim, and felt a little like a book. It didn’t have a sender's name, only hers, spelled out in painstaking letters. The letter, of course, was from Erin Shacklebolt.

“Never mind,” Harriet said to Millicent. “I’ve got to go somewhere and read this.”

She huffed. “Well, alright,” she said. “But I’m holding you to sliding later. Bet a Knut I can win.”

“Bet a Sickle you can’t,” Harriet said, and followed Hermione out the doors.

“Is that—” Hermione asked in a whisper as they went up to the seventh floor.

“Yes,” Harriet said. “But I don’t know about the package. Didn’t say who sent it.”

Students were staring at them and whispering as they went past. Harriet scowled until she heard the word ‘troll’ far more than ‘Potter’, at which point she felt monstrously better about the whole thing.

The Common Room was filled people, standing around and flapping the newspaper and talking very excitedly. Harriet caught a glimpse of one, in great big letters it read: Troll Accosts Students!!! Hogwarts Safe???? The students swarmed as soon as Harriet and Hermione climbed in the portrait hole, Oliver Wood in the lead. He grabbed Harriet very firmly by the arms—Hermione was too busy answering various questions to notice.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded.

“No,” Harriet said at once.

He let her go and stumbled back a step. “Oh Thank God,” he said, looking faint. “I thought—if it had gotten your arms—it’s far too late to train a replacement Seeker.”

Harriet patted his arm, feeling both offended and pleased.

Oliver turned around and shouted to the room at large, “It’s alright! She’s still going to play!”

The crowded nearly divided itself in half, and one half dispersed rapidly. This made Harriet feel much better; she hated getting stared at and whispered about. “Look,” she told the girl trying to ask her a question, “I’ve got to go.”

The girl looked offended, but Harriet slipped around her and scrambled up to her dorm, where Lavender and Parvati had to be pacified. “Really,” she told them several times, “I’m fine. Only, it stank so badly, I still can’t smell anything else.”

They looked deeply relieved. “Well, we’re going down to the greenhouses,” Parvati said. “Professor Sprout is letting people keep all the Roaring Roses they can deadhead by the end of the day, and my mum is going to send me a recipe to make them into perfume.” She added sympathetically, “We’ll share it if you can ever smell anything again.”

“Alright,” Harriet said, and tumbled herself into her bed as soon as they departed. She closed the curtains and lit up her wand, and was tearing at the envelope when Hermione pulled them open and climbed in after her.

The letter was predictably Erin-esque. It was very long, and rambled on about dragons for several paragraphs, and then in the last line mentioned in big letters she had gotten a new spy book.

“She’s too little to understand being subtle,” Harriet said sympathetically after reading it out loud to Hermione. “And probably excited Kingsley asked her to be a messenger.”

“Is Kingsley your Auror uncle?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Harriet said. “We’re not related, though.”

Hermione nodded easily. “I’ve got aunties like that,” she said with a grimace. “But, look, didn’t you say your _mum_ was going to write you?”

“She is,” Harriet said. “Look.” She unfolded the letter all the way, and leaned in until each breath blew out against it. “ _Mellon_ ,” she whispered, and the ink faded away and silvery letters shimmered into view.

Hermione laughed. “She _didn’t_ ,” she said. “Really, Harriet?”

“Well, no wizard at the Ministry is gonna try that,” Harriet said defensively. “Anyways, Dad read the whole series to her when she was in school—it was how they first started dating.”

Hermione laughed again, a hand over her mouth. Harriet, pleased, ducked her head to the paper, and read it slowly. There were only a few sentences, but they meant the world to her.

“Our lawyer’s a crack one,” she told Hermione, after she had a chance to read it, too. “If Mum says she can get the judge on our side, I’m sure she can.”

Hermione was thinking, her cheeks puffed up. “Does the Wizarding World allow character witnesses?” she asked. "They can testify that your parents are good, responsible people."

“I dunno,” Harriet said. “I’ve got to write back, I’ll ask about that.”

She shifted a little, and her hip hit something solid. After groping around, she pulled out the grubby package. “Forgot about that,” she said. “I wonder if Dora sent it.”

The paper tore off easily, and Harriet whispered at it again, but it stayed blank. “Hmm,” she said, and picked up the book that had fallen out.

It was a black marbled composition book, like the ones she took notes it. She flipped through it, not really reading it but looking at the round handwriting. She didn’t recognize it, which was odd. She knew Dora's on sight.

“Check the front,” Hermione said eagerly. “Maybe someone wrote their name in it.”

Harriet turned to the front page, and dropped the book. Her hands were very cold now, and they shook as she tried to pick it up again.

“What is it?” Hermione demanded.

Harriet didn’t want to show her, didn’t even want to hand it to her. She never wanted to let go of it again. She put her own fingers across the name, feeling her throat ache.

 _Property of Lily Evans_ , it said in bubble letters done in bright pink ink. There was a blot on the page, like the writer had just been learning how to use a quill. In much neater letters underneath, it said in red, _Gryffindor_.

“It’s my mum’s,” Harriet managed in a whisper, like saying it aloud might make it disappear.

“Your first mum?” Hermione whispered back.

Harriet nodded, and turned to the first page. Her mum—her mum!—had written neatly, _September 1st, 1971_. Harriet wanted to read the rest, but her eyes blurred too much to see. She slammed the book shut and put it to her chest.

One of Hermione's hand was rubbing soothing circle’s on Harriet's back, but the other was shaking out the wrapping paper. “There’s a note!” she said, startled, and put it in Harriet's hands.

It was written in plain black ink on a scrap of the same brown paper. It said, _You are your mother’s daughter. The troll never stood a chance._

Harriet goggled. “Did the newspaper—” she asked.

“It never said which students,” Hermione told her. “Do you think someone here—”

“No,” Harriet said. “I don’t know. I’d, I’d like to be alone now, please.”

“Alright,” Hermione said slowly. She crawled out of the bed again and closed the curtains behind her, but didn’t leave the dorm; Harriet could the squeak of her desk chair and the rustle of a book. She wanted to be alone but not alone; the steady scratch of a quill that started shortly afterwards was very soothing. She lay down with her head on her pillow, and clutched her wand. Her stomach was doing swoops and awful falls.

She opened the cover of the book slowly, and dashed tears out of her eyes.

At first she only stared at the handwriting, so painfully foreign to her. But after a while, that wasn’t enough. She started to read.

* * *

Saturday at breakfast, Millicent and Sally-Anne came over to the Gryffindor table at once. “No one’s said anything about how the bloody hell a troll got in the castle,” Millicent told them, stabbing at a piece of Harriet's sausage. “You owe me a Sickle, by the way. I had to pay off Carinthia Urquart for that information, the snot.”

“You can have it over my dead body,” Harriet said cheerfully, and made like she would stab Millicent’s hand as it snuck towards her bacon.

“Will both of you behave?” Hermione demanded. “Honestly, you’re like toddlers. I know something about the troll, but I shan’t tell you if you keep acting up. It’s about dogs.” She widened her eyes at Harriet, who felt like a dolt.

“Shut up, you,” she said at once to all of them in general.

“You know love us,” Millicent said, and leered.

Sally-Anne reached over and patted Millicent’s hand. “Anything you say, dear,” she said in a lofty tone, and all four of them giggled.

Millicent turned back to Harriet and Hermione, mouth open, and paused. Then, she said meaningfully, “You know, you learn all kinds of nasty things in Slytherin. We’ve got a whole library of illegal curses.”

Harriet gaped, and whipped around as someone standing behind them gurgled. Ron, pale as a sheet, stared at them. “I’ll, I’ll come back then,” he hedged, but Seamus, standing behind him, poked him in the back with his wand.

“Out with it!” Seamus said. “I’m not listening to you spend another night sniveling.”

Ron flushed, and took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize to you and Hermione,” he said very loudly to Harriet.

Millicent snickered. Ron looked offended. “I really want to!” he sputtered.

Hermione had folded her hands on her lap. “Go ahead then,” she said, her nose in the air.

“I shouldn’t have said all those things,” Ron said at once. “I’ve been an ass, Harriet was right. And then you almost died, and well, I’m sorry.”

Hermione stared at him, and Harriet held her breath. “It shouldn’t take someone nearly dying to make you feel bad about being so awful,” Hermione told him. “But it’s a start.” She held out her hand, and gave Harriet a meaningful look until she did the same.

Ron shook Hermione's hand and then Harriet's.

“We’re not friends, still,” Hermione told him as he lingered awkwardly. “But maybe if you start being nicer to people, I’ll change my mind.”

“Right,” Ron said. He sounded very determined, Harriet thought, and faintly relieved. Seamus waved over his shoulder as they walked away to a place down the table, where Dean and the other Weasleys were watching.

Millicent whistled, but Sally-Anne beat her to commenting. “That was very scary,” she told Hermione. “I approve.”

Harriet thought Hermione might have been blushing, but it was hard to tell. “Well,” Hermione said in a huff. “He was very rude.”

“She said she approved,” Millicent pointed out, and reached around Harriet with a long arm to take a piece off of Hermione's orange. She said through her chewing, “We’ll spare him the draw-and-quartering, I guess.”

Harriet wrinkled her nose. “Let’s talk about the troll some more,” she said. “That was somehow less gross.”

“Really?” Millicent said interestedly. “Did you know, I got toilet water in my mouth.”

She looked pleased at their outraged cries, until Harriet pushed her backwards off the bench. Sprawled on the floor, she regarded the ceiling and told them, “Better wrap up. It looks like rain.”

“Shut up, Milly,” Sally-Anne said easily. “Hermione, please, will you tell us about the troll?”

“Alright,” Hermione said, “but not here. We should go somewhere private.”

They all stood and shuffled off, Harriet thought out of habit, to the first floor girls’ loo. Someone had repaired it overnight, and you couldn’t tell unless you knew beforehand that one of the toilets had not always been avocado green.

They stood around. The room seemed colder, and darker. Harriet wrapped her arms about her waist. Whatever was dripping sounded ominous now; it made her grind her teeth. Everyone else looked uncomfortable, Harriet thought, but wasn’t willing to mention it.

Hermione tried twice to say something, but lost it to a mass of stutters. Finally, Harriet, “We should leave.”

There was a huge sigh of relief, and they nearly ran for the door. In the hallway, they exchanged glances. “I liked that loo,” Millicent said very angrily. Hermione looked worried.

“Where are we going to go now?” she asked, and eyed a passing Ravenclaw. “I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”

Sally-Anne was fidgeting, rocking back and forth from one foot to another. “I know another place,” she said. “No one ever goes there.”

“You should show us,” Harriet said and patted her shoulder.

Sally-Anne rocked harder. “It’s just, they don’t go there for a _reason_ ,” she said.

Several minutes later, they were standing in what Harriet thought was a very proper haunted bathroom—dark and dank and fetid and run-down, and populated by a howling ghost. “That’s Moaning Myrtle,” Sally-Anne said in barely a whisper, holding Millicent’s hand tightly. “She died here, and now they can’t get her to leave.”

The ghost inside one of the stalls howled louder, and water splashed aggressively.

Harriet was unfazed. “This is the _perfect_ place,” she said. “Just as long as she doesn’t rat us out to anyone.”

“I don’t think she leaves here much,” Sally-Anne said.

The blocks of sinks were stupidly round and completely unsuitable as seats—Harriet followed the curve of them towards the window, where the floor was dry, and only faintly dusty. “Here, Hermione,” she said as she sank down. “Nice, private place. Want to tell them about how the troll lead to the three-headed dog now?”

Sally-Anne jerked just as she was lowering herself down, and fell the rest of the way with a thud. “A three-headed dog?” she asked, her voice very high.

“A cerberus? Those are rare,” Millicent said easily. “Got to import them out of Greece.”

Everyone turned to look at her. “How did you learn that?” Hermione demanded.

“My Da wanted to see if we could train one to guard sheep. We’ve been having nasty griffin problems. But the Ministry restricts them; they’re Class F animals.” At their blank looks, she said, “You’ve got to have training and a license to import them, and can’t sell them or breed them or nothing.”

“Where’d you see one?” she went one. “Da never let me get close to one or anything.”

Hermione shot Harriet a look that made it clear she wasn’t going to explain. Harriet sighed. “Up in the third-floor corridor. The forbidden one. We went there on accident and it was chained up behind the one of the doors. Nearly took our heads off.”

Sally-Anne looked stunned. But Millicent looked angry. “Those dogs need a lot of exercise,” she said hotly. “Being shut in a small room isn’t _good_ for them.”

“Oh, I’m sure it gets a lot of exercise,” Harriet said. “We can’t have been the only ones who’ve gotten lost and opened that door. Probably it stays fit almost killing people all the time.”

“You can’t blame a dog for following its training!”

“Anyways!” Hermione said loudly. “I noticed while we were there that it’s guarding something. A trapdoor. And then someone let a troll in. It can’t have just wandered up.”

“And what, it’s the troll’s dog and the troll came looking for it?” Millicent demanded. “I’d pay to see that.”

“No!” Hermione said, looking offended. “But that’s two dangerous things since this year started! And, and everyone says that the only thing that’s changed is the third-floor corridor being off-limits! I’ve been asking and asking, and that’s the _only_ different thing. Whatever the dog’s guarding!”

Sally-Anne was quaking now, and biting at her nails. “Something dangerous,” she said in a whisper. “It’s got to be something really dangerous. Oh, everyone said Hogwarts is supposed to be safe.”

Hermione smacked her forehead. “Of course!” she said loudly. “Hogwarts is the safest place in Magical Britain! Where else would someone hide something important?”

“The bank,” Millicent grumbled. “They’ve got bloody dragons.”

Harriet paused. “But Gringotts isn’t as safe as Hogwarts,” she said. “It got broken into this summer, remember, Hermione? Dora sent us that newspaper article, right when school started and the goblins released a statement. Someone tried to steal something, _but it was already gone_.”

Everyone stared at each other. “You don’t think—” Sally-Anne said in a very small voice.

“It's an awful coincidence if it's not. It would have to be something really, really important,” Harriet said. “Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t risk any students getting hurt for something dumb.”

“Honestly, Harriet,” Hermione said, rubbing at the edge of her sleeve. “I don’t know why you trust him so much. He’s the one who got your parents in trouble.”

“My parents trusted him,” Harriet said hotly. “He fought Voldemort during the war!” Everyone flinched. “And he likes me! He likes all the students! He wouldn’t do anything to get anyone hurt.”

“Just hide some mysterious, dangerous thing in a castle full of children!” Hermione snapped.

“Alright, enough!” Millicent said. “We know something’s there, so what are we going to do about it?”

“Find out what it is,” Hermione said.

“Help protect it,” Harriet said. They turned and stared at each other.

“We live here,” Hermione told her. “People are setting trolls on us over this. We’ve got a right to know.”

“It’s got to be important to keep it safe,” Harriet said. “The most important thing. Someone _broke into Gringotts_! And if Dumbledore thinks it’s not safe anywhere else—”

Sally-Anne whimpered miserably, and Harriet broke off and turned to her. Her whole face was pale, and one of her fingers was bleeding at the nail. “What is it?” Harriet asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Susan and Hannah told me about, about You-Know-Who,” she said in a whisper. “They said it was awful, the war. How _he_ was doing awful things, learning Dark Magic. Cursing people. And that Hogwarts was the only safe place, because _he_ was scared of Professor Dumbledore. And now something’s hidden here—”

“No,” Millicent said at once. She was also whispering. “He died, he’s dead. Everyone says so. _You_ killed him, Harriet. And you can’t bring back dead people.”

“Susan said there wasn’t a body!” Sally-Anne cried, looking close to weeping. “Her aunt said _he_ might not be!”

They all turned to look at Harriet, but she looked down at her hands. Her mum didn’t think the war was over, either. She never talked about it, but Harriet could tell. She was always saying Harriet's time would come, and she had to be strong and good and smart when it did.

"People's ideas don't just die when they do," Harriet said. She didn't add that she was scared of this; that the war might start again.

“It _has_ to be something about the war—Dumbledore wouldn’t care about money or jewels or anything. _He_ had followers,” Hermione murmured. “I read, not all of them went to jail. And if it’s something about the war, wouldn’t it make sense for _them_ to try and get it? Especially now that—”

She looked at Harriet, eyes wet. “Now that everyone knows where Harriet is. What if they're mad at her? What if it’s something that could hurt her?”

Harriet stood up. “My parents died trying to stop Voldemort and what he was doing,” she said. “If there’s even the littlest chance this thing could help someone start doing what _he_ did, then I _have_ to protect it.”

Hermione looked uncomfortable. “Oh, Harriet, I'm sure they wouldn't want you to put yourself in danger. If it’s dangerous, we should just leave it alone,” she said. "We could get hurt. We could, we could die."

“I don’t care!” Harriet said. “You don't understand how it is, Hermione."

"Well I think I do," she snapped back. "You mum died to keep you _safe_!" 

"This is _all_ they left me!" Harriet screamed. "Just this! Not memories, or a family, or, or anything! I don't even know what they were like—no one ever talks about them! Just stupid things, favorite cookies, like that's who they were! Like I care about that! All I've _ever_ known is this! Just what they _died_ trying to do. How could I ignore that? I can’t—I can’t just pretend it away!”

Sally-Anne wasn't the only one crying now, but she was the loudest. She scrambled to her feet and wrapped her arms around Harriet, pushed her face down into Harriet's shoulder. Harriet stood there numbly.

“I _have_ to,” Harriet said. “I _have_ to. But, but you don’t. If the troll was enough for you, then fine. It’s fine. But don’t you try to stop me.”

“We won’t,” Sally-Anne wept to her. “Oh, I won’t. You won’t have to do it alone.”

“The war was rot,” Millicent said. She came over and peeled Sally-Anne off of Harriet, then hugged Harriet herself. “I'll be buggered if I'm going to just stand by and let it start up again.”

They all looked at Hermione, who had chewed nearly through her lip. Finally, she stood up. “We should start with a list of things it could be,” she said. “We need to know more about whatever it is, to protect it. Dumbledore, he couldn’t stop the troll until it was inside the castle. How far is the next try going to get?”

She wiped at her face, and came over to hug Harriet. As she did, she said softly in her ear, “Harriet? They might not have left you anything, but they left all of _us_ something. And I think it was the best thing they ever could.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow guys, the plot finally establishes itself! this chapter's a little shorter to make up for the last monster, but i sure hope it packs just as big a punch!
> 
> and in this house, we stan total nerd!andromeda
> 
> next point of business: the positive responses to this fic have completely overwhelmed me, and i love you guys so much! when the fic gets a little further along, i'm thinking of doing a little something for you guys, like maybe letting you suggest behind the scenes views you want and doing little ficlets for those. harriet's an amazing point of view character, but we miss a lot that she doesn't see. i'll let you know when i'm opening up suggestions, and if there's interest, i'll pop some of those out!
> 
> <333333333


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione wanted to start researching right away, but Harriet had other things on her mind. Her first Quidditch match was approaching rapidly, and a desperate Oliver Wood sitting two seats down from her at dinner was a much more real threat than a mysterious unknown figure.

Thrice weekly Quidditch practices became once a day, and Harriet had to pull herself out of bed two hours early and slog through the increasingly cold and muddy grounds to run around the lake. No one was cheerful about this, not even Oliver, who was becoming higher strung. He popped out at Harriet between classes, offering her last-minute advice, and Hermione had taken to saying, “No. No!” to him when he did in the tone someone might use to scold a dog.

Finally, the day was there. Harriet, sitting at the breakfast table, looked at her empty plate and thought she might be sick.

“Have some toast,” Hermione said.

Sally-Anne had joined them, though Millicent remained at her own table. “Eat _something_ ,” she said in alarm.

Harriet shook her head minutely.

Sally-Anne huffed and turned towards the Slytherin table. “Milly!” she shouted. “She won’t eat anything.”

All of the Slytherin first years were sitting together as they always did, and Draco Malfoy sneered at them. “Written your will yet, Potter?”

Millicent said easily, “Shut up, Little Dragon.” Draco turned red, while several of the others sniggered. “Think of the troll!” Millicent said. “You’re going to die—might as well have your last taste of bacon.”

Hermione made a deeply frustrated noise. Harriet stared at the breakfast platters laid out along the table, and picked up a single sausage. Seamus, who had been watching in concern, said, “Got to have your strength!” He was the only other first year there—the rest hadn’t come down, not even to wish her good luck.

The sausage tasted like ash. Millicent leaned over and said, “Do you really want that to be the last thing you taste?”

Harriet, slowly, being chided along, ate an orange and an egg. “That’s enough, then,” Hermione said soothingly when Harriet clapped her hand across her mouth.

“Just got keep it down, now!” Seamus said. He was making scones into sandwiches, with eggs and bacon and orange marmalade, and wrapping them up in napkins.

It was a good thing Fred and George appeared then, and picked Harriet up under her arms to take her out to the pitch. Harriet thought if she’d had to stay and watch him eat those sandwiches, she really would have been sick.

In the locker room, everyone was changing together with no regard for privacy. Harriet let Fred lace her into the thick, red leather doublet that would protect her back and chest. “Don’t be nervous,” he told her. “The person who ends up injured most often is the referee. They keep disappearing and turning up in the Sahara.”

Harriet laughed a little. George, who was doing up his boots, said, “And don’t worry about looking stupid either; I paid of Lee not to say anything when you do. But you’ll owe me for that.” He winked at her good-naturedly.

Katie Bell, yawning as she tugged on her gloves, said, “It’s not too exciting after your first match.”

Oliver Wood came in from off the pitch, his face pale. “Everything’s all set up,” he said. “Listen, everyone.” He paused and looked at them all in turn. “Just do your best,” he said at last.

“Wow,” Fred said quietly in Harriet's ear. “That’s the first time he hasn’t given a speech.”

“We ought to know,” George said in her other ear. “We’ve been on the team with him for two years. Even when Charlie was Captain, Oliver gave us a speech.”

Oliver was very pale now, and sweating. Outside, a whistle blew. “It’s time,” he said. “Come on, you lot. And Harriet?”

She looked up.

“Try not to die,” he said grimly. “I’m not going to rewrite all those three hundred maneuvers again.”

They stepped out of the locker room to the booming voice of Lee Jordan, who was commentating in a magic microphone under Professor McGonagall’s unamused stare. “And here we have the Gryffindor Team: Oliver Wood as Captain and Keeper, give us a wave, Oliver! Fred and George Weasley are still our Beaters, two peas in a pod, those ones. Angelina Johnson, blow us a kiss, beautiful—”

“Jordan,” McGonagall hissed.

“Sorry! Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, both also very fine, finish the Chaser line. And rounding out the team is Gryffindor’s newest troll slayer and the youngest Seeker in a century, so she had better be bloody talented—”

“JORDAN!”

“Harriet Tonks, whose House is currently campaigning should be given the position of Headmaster, and I’ve got to say, she certainly wears the beard better. Give us a wave, love, in case someone here somehow doesn’t know you!”

Angelina had been raising Harriet's hand for her, and started laughing as Lee spoke. “Look, Harriet!” she cried. “Look at the Gryffindor stands!”

Harriet craned her neck, and saw: all of the Gryffindor first-years, standing cheering on the row closest to the front, where they had hung two massive banners. They must have used bed sheets, Harriet thought.

The first one said **Harriet for Headmaster** and had a cartoon of Harriet with a long white beard like Dumbledore. The words flashed between red and yellow. The second one was an enormous lion, mouth open in a menacing roar.

Harriet started laughing, too, delighted. Now she knew what everyone had been doing at breakfast. She waved at them frantically, and they all jumped up and down and waved back. She was no longer nauseous when Madame Hooch instructed them to play a fair game, and even the Slytherins’ furious scowls couldn’t dim her budding excitement.

“The team captains have shaken hands. Here come the balls, better stay away from those Bludgers, boys and girls! And the whistle—”

The Bludgers and the Snitch were released. They mounted their brooms. When the whistle blew and Madame Hooch launched the Quaffle in the air, Harriet kicked off and spun dizzily towards the sky.

“And we’re off!” Lee roared. “Slytherin takes possession, Flint with the ball, passes to Pucey, oh, nice shot by Weasley! Bludger straight to the head, Angelina Johnson in possession now. Did I not tell you to watch out?”

“Angelina goes for the goal, passes off to Katie, who is hanging back, waiting? Tonks! Tonks is diving, has she seen the Snitch! Oh, Gryffindor scores! Good use of distraction there, totally legal, Keeper Bletchley had better learn to keep his eye on the game!”

The Gryffindor stands erupted into cheers as the Slytherins hissed and booed half-heartedly.

“I always say you can take the lay of a game by the first score. Looks like Slytherin’s going to get stomped, and righteously so—”

“Jordan, I am warning you!”

“Opinions are dissenting, obviously!”

Harriet, spiraling back up to a high perch, watched the game play out, riveted. She fell and rose in mad swoops, spun inches in front of one of Slytherin’s Chasers, blocking his catch, breathing in sunshine and exhaling laughter as the score counts rose and Lee’s commentary got wildly out of control.

“Here now, Alicia’s got the ball, headed for the goals, where are the Slytherin Chasers? They’ve all scattered, WATCH OUT ALICIA! Cassius Warrington, sloth of Slytherin doesn’t need to be a fast flyer, he’s got the Bludgers doing all the work, I am _forced_ to admit that was a masterful shot.”

“Here’s Oliver signaling she’s all right, bet she’ll be feeling that tomorrow. Oh, and he still has time to block that weak shot by Flint, they’re swearing at each other now, Madame Hooch is making them move on, Katie takes the ball—”

The counts had risen steadily—Gryffindor hovered at fifty points, Slytherin at sixty-five. Harriet was spinning slowly towards the Slytherin goal posts when something finely golden and frighteningly fast spun across the field and danced a lazy circle around Pucey, who went cross-eyed and dropped the Quaffle.

“Is that—” Lee said, a magnified whisper.

Harriet dove.

“The Snitch has been spotted, Harriet and Higgs are giving chase!”

A Bludger bound past Harriet, she didn’t even flinch as it struck Higgs, and he burst into coughs. He disappeared from the side of her view. The Snitch was so close now!

Wham! She shrieked as her broom spun, Marcus Flint rising out of her way with a nasty grin. The field echoed with Gryffindor stands’ shrieks of “Foul!”

Lee and McGonagall scuffled for the microphone, and a scream of feedback had Harriet wincing, hands over her ears as she rose. The Snitch was gone.

“Tonks was hit, Hooch calls a foul,” Professor McGonagall said, before Lee planted an elbow in her chest and jerked the microphone back.

“A disgusting bit of cheating, better watch out later, Flint! Those Gryffindor lions look ready to eat you alive!”

The Gryffindors obligingly started up a furious roar that echoed from one side of their stands to the other.

Harriet gained as much height as she could, focused only on the Snitch now, eyes darting furiously. She was ignoring the rapid clangs of the point counter when someone struck her broom again. She jerked, grabbing at the handle, and fell back into her seat with an aching jolt. She ducked her head around, but no one was anywhere near her.

The broom rose again, even as she kicked down, and then dropped itself two feet. She cried out as she slammed against it, hearing the noises on the pitch fade into a dull roar. Her ears were buzzing. The broom shot to the side, and she was forced to roll with it, or fall off.

Brooms, especially brand new Nimbuses, didn’t do this, Harriet thought wildly as she tightened her hold and spurred it downwards.

“Katie sinks the penalty no problem, Bletchley’s got to get his eyes looked at, Quaffle’s in the air—Angelina is in possession! Angelina’s also got my heart, she’d better be careful with both!”

The broom kept rising. Harriet looked around wildly—no one was noticing, and she was too high now to scream and be heard.

The broom started to rotate, slowly. Harriet gritted her teeth grimly and tucked her whole body down as close to it as she could.

“Angelina passes to Alicia, Derrick’s stolen the pass, who gave that nasty snake a pair of hands—”

“Jordan, this is your last warning!”

“Wait, Oliver’s signaling, WHAT, OLIVER? Look up, look—There appears to be something wrong with Harriet's broom, she’s spinning around—”

“Jordan, give me—Madame Hooch, what is going on? No—Filius, send a Patronus to Albus—I’ve got to get on the pitch!”

There was a commotion below, but she couldn’t hear anything over the mad rushing of her heartbeat. She wished she’d had cake for breakfast. She wished she hadn’t had anything at all.

The rotations increased. Something very far away in the stands below was flashing hotly silver. Harriet, snapping her head around and around in place to keep from getting dizzy, focused on it slowly.

Flash. A pause. Flash!flash. Flash. Flash! A pause. Flash, flash!flash!flash! A pause. Flash, flash. A pause. Flash!flash.

Harriet jerked her head away, and shut her eyes as the broom spun and bucked madly, adding up in her head and counting her way along twenty six.

Alright, a jinx. How did one trapped a broom a million bloody feet in the air with their wand left safely in the bloody locker room overcome a jinx?

“Hey!” someone shouted. She pried her eyes open, and saw a blur of red and white. She hadn’t lost her glasses, Harriet thought, the world was just spinning by faster and faster.

The blur reached out for her, and her broom stopped moving with a sickening lash and jerked twenty more feet up. Fred Weasley resolved into actual lines and color.

“I’m going to try and put you on my broom,” he told her. “Don’t panic, George and Angelina are down below. If I can’t grab you, they will.”

He reached out, slowly, slowly. She was going to kiss him; she was going to cry. And then, his fingertips grazed barely along with handle, her broom shot away and flipped itself on the vertical axis.

Harriet screamed, and the broom stilled itself menacingly. She had left her gloves behind, concerned only with being able to grab the Snitch, and her hands were sweating. They slid along the polished wood and she didn’t dare let go to wipe them off.

“—right,” Fred was saying. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Harriet stared at him with wide eyes. Shapes circled below her, and she felt the subtle hum of the broomstick increase.

Somewhere below, smoke was rising, like someone had lit up a campfire. 

Harriet wished her broom was thrown into it. She wished she had written her mum back. She wished Dora was there. She wished desperately she had finished Lily-mum's journal instead of rationing it out to herself page by page, a small and sweet treat she wanted to savor for as long as possible. She wished all of this very quickly, as the broomstick started vibrating, and Fred’s eyes widened.

And then the broom flipped itself again, bristles over handle, and she was screaming as she fell.

It seemed to last forever, with no thoughts at all in her mind, just wind rushing around her wildly, and she lost her breath completely as something small and hard struck her teeth and tried to fly down her throat.

And then _she_ struck something—something struck her, and pain exploded all along her arm, and air forced itself thinly into her lungs. She was coughing, trying to raise her arms to scrabble at her throat, and dropping still, but slowly, until she hit something soft and fell over.

Someone was pulling her up, forcing her onto her knees, and a terrible pressure hit her back, making the world explode into white flares. Something fell out of her mouth, and she could breathe again, really breathe.

Someone was roaring as the ringing in her ears faded away.

“—LIVED UP TO HIS NAME, DID YOU SEE THAT BLOODY CATCH—”

Harriet's face was wet, her whole right-side-half burned still, her glasses were gone. The world was a watercolor; deep green spreading out around her, around a pale splotch, and inside that oval was a spot of gold.

The cries cut off. “The Snitch,” someone whispered. It rose in a susurration around them, catching slowly from a whisper to a wild roar, and a voice Harriet only faintly recognized as Lee screamed, “IN THE FACE OF CERTAIN DEATH, HARRIET TONKS HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS—250 TO 75!”

Bells were ringing furiously; Harriet didn’t care. Someone muttered, “Bloody fucking unbelievable,” right in her ear, and said, “Take a breath.”

It was not a nice voice. Harriet sucked in as hard as she could, which wasn’t much—her whole chest was aching, and screamed as something wrenched her arm painfully.

When the world came back and she opened her eyes again, everything on her side hurt a whole lot less. “—reduce her arm like that!” someone, a lady, shouted. “Detention, Derrick! For a week! With me! Now help me get her on the stretcher!”

Someone picked Harriet up very carefully, and her cheek caught against warm, fragrant leather. She clutched at it slowly with her good arm, everything feeling very far away. “—bloody think so, ma’am,” someone rumbled under her ear. And then, with bad humor, “Pass out already, would you? Just take a nice, long nap. Bloody well hate crowds, and you’re my ticket out of here.”

And then the world was rocking gently, and Harriet, face turned to that grass and oil smell, shut her eyes. A nap sounded nice—if she died while she was sleeping than she wouldn’t even have to be scared.

* * *

“Rotate that slowly now,” Madame Pomfrey said. “Alright, and now back again. Any numbness, tingling, pain in your fingers?”

“No,” Harriet said, gasping. “But it aches!”

“You may have a pain potion once I determine whether or not that foolish boy has given you nerve damage. Now, I want you to make a tight fist, and open your fingers one by one.”

Grimacing, Harriet did as she was told.

“Good,” Madame Pomfrey said soothingly. “Well, Mister Derrick, it appears you haven’t significantly damaged her.”

The figure on the other side of the curtains grunted. “I am impressed,” she went on. “Should you serve your detention adequately, I would not be opposed to granting you volunteer hours. You may leave now, and return on Monday after your classes.”

The figure shifted. “…bloody won’t,” it said.

Madame Pomfrey, who had been pouring several vials into a cup, paused. “Miss Tonks needs rest,” she said. “If you wish to visit with her, you may come back later, just like the rest of her friends.”

Harriet was alarmed by this implication. “You’re not going to keep me here?” she demanded. “I’m fine! Not even wobbly!”

“You fell several hundred feet, severely bruised your soft palate and throat, and dislocated your arm in your _first_ Quidditch match,” Madame Pomfrey said. “Miss Tonks, if I could chain you to this bed, I would.”

“They’ve having a party right now!” Harriet cried. “I just know it.” Tears sprang to her eyes and she dashed at them angrily.

Madame Pomfrey softened a little. “Take your potion,” she said and handed Harriet the cup. “If your pain has gone down in ten minutes and you aren’t dizzy, then I suppose you may leave.”

She stepped back and pushed open the curtains. The Slytherin who had caught Harriet and carried her to the Hospital Wing was standing there, his arms crossed, looking grumpy.

“And I suppose you may stay for now,” Madame Pomfrey told him.

“Thanks,” he said sourly. Madame Pomfrey didn’t seem disturbed; she put up a nicely ticking timer in bright blue with a Tempus spell, and bustled back towards her office, the low heels on her shoes clicking.

The boy stared at Harriet. He was very tall and very broad, and looked very displeased. “Should stop bloody dying,” he told her, and tossed something through the air. Harriet raised her good arm and caught it with a snatch; the Snitch unfurled its wings inquisitively. One of them was bent slightly, and it only managed a low hover over the palm of her hand.

“Should I have this?” Harriet asked, and closed her hand around it. It obligingly curled back up into a smooth ball.

The boy stared at her flatly. “Well, thanks,” she said, and shoved it into her pocket. “And, and for catching me.”

“Hooch should have done it,” he said. “Bloody Reservi jinx don’t work for shit unless you’re powerful as Merlin.”

“What’s a Reservi jinx?” Harriet asked. She’d never heard of it before.

“Makes things stop moving,” he said. “Bet Hooch wasn’t the only teacher to try it—they warded the whole pitch against its use in ’71 when a bunch of first years used it to make the practicing classes go arse over head when they were learning.”

“Well, well, well!” Professor Flitwick cried from the infirmary doors. “An obscure bit of knowledge, but a useful one. Five points to Slytherin!”

“Professor!” Harriet cried, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

“No, no, stay where you are,” he said, and trotted over. “I’ve come to deliver some news and to wish you well. Ah, the Hospital Wing is so dreary, I hope you shan’t be staying for long.”

“If I don’t get dizzy, I can leave,” Harriet said. “Madame Pomfrey put up a timer.”

Professor Flitwick scrutinized the timer, and nodded approvingly. “She was always very talented with those,” he said. “Now, my dear, are we _hoping_ for a short stay?”

“Yes!” Harriet said at once.

“Then I shall only have a short visit,” he told her, and tapped a finger against his lips. “Flowers are traditional in the Muggle world, are they not?” he asked. “The Magical World differs less than you think.” And with several exaggerated waves of his wand, burst a bouquet with barely any stems at all into the air above the table beside Harriet's bed. “Short flowers,” he told her. “It seems to be a theme.” He winked.

Harriet giggled.

The Slytherin boy was watching this grumpily. Professor Flitwick included him in his wide beam, and said cheerfully, “I have also brought glad tidings! There is nothing wrong with your actual broomstick, after we fetched it down post-haste, and you may have it back as soon as you see Miss Granger. She was entrusted with it.”

“Oh, thank you,” Harriet said, beaming.

“Don’t look so bloody happy,” the Slytherin boy snapped. “That’s worse. Anyone could have been jinxing you now.”

Harriet frowned, confused.

“I am sorry to say, this does _not_ narrow the possibilities down,” Professor Flitwick agreed. “Anyone who could see you could have cast a jinx like that, and as high as you were flying, you would have been visible both from the grounds and from the Forbidden Forest, as well as the stands. And your unfortunate fall was not the only bit of mischief—the professors’ stand was set afire shortly before you fell.”

“I saw the smoke,” Harriet said, her eyes narrowed as she remembered.

“Yes, it was a rather large blaze, but we are all quite skilled with wands,” Professor Flitwick said. “No one was severely hurt, only wounded and only in our pride. It is clearly been past time to renew the fire-retardant spells on the stands.”

“However, that is a problem for us professors, not one you should worry about, and I dare say it will be done before the next match. As for catching the culprit, the Headmaster has decided that this matter should be referred to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It’s a very serious situation indeed.”

Harriet swallowed down the bubbling excitement. “Do you know who they’re going to send?” she asked breathlessly.

“Aurors,” Professor Flitwick told her, “but beyond that, I do not know.”

The timer rang in a sweet and chiming tone. Madame Pomfrey came out of the office, nodding her head to Professor Flitwick when she noticed him. “Madame Pomfrey,” he said cheerfully, and bowed.

“Well, Miss Tonks?” she asked Harriet.

“I haven’t been dizzy at all, and my arm hurts a whole lot less.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Get up and walk for me please, just down to the end of the hall and back.”

Harriet accomplished this easily.

“Very well,” Madame Pomfrey said. “You may go. Come back if there is _any_ burning or numbness, or if you’re more than sore tomorrow.”

“Yes, Madame,” Harriet said.

“I shall bid you adieu,” Professor Flitwick told her, and bowed again. “Don’t forget your flowers when you leave.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harriet said, and hurried out. The Slytherin boy held the door for her, and she heard something as she slipped through that made her linger, ear to the crack.

“Ah, no, I had another reason as well,” Professor Flitwick was saying. “Our dear Pomona was a bit too overzealous when checking to see if our mousetrap had been sprung.”

“Is it—? The stone—?” Madame Pomfrey gasped.

“No, Poppy, don’t look so alarmed—it’s still there. But poor Pomona did get bitten in the process, and is waiting in the Staff Room to be attended to. She didn’t want to alarm any of the students.”

Harriet, ear pressed nearly to the crack of the door, glared at the lingering Slytherin boy. He snorted, and shook his head at her, and left. But then Professor Flitwick was leaving, and Madame Pomfrey, too, and she had to scramble away and around the corner.

Her heart was beating fast—she put a hand to her chest. So it wasn’t just Dumbledore that knew what was hidden, it was the other teachers, too! And they were trying to trap something. Whatever was hidden was _bait_!

She waited until the grown-ups had disappeared towards the staff room, and took off at a slow jog towards the Tower. She had to tell Hermione, and Millicent, and Sally-Anne. But coming up the corridor towards the tipsy Fat Lady, a low surge of noise made her grin. Thoughts about secret plots evaporated as soon as she climbed through the portrait hole.

The party was in full swing—people were shouting and laughing and splashing hastily-transfigured mugs around. When Harriet came in a loud cheer went up, and she got scooped up by Fred and George to perch on their shoulders while they paraded her around the room several times.

Finally, she was let down and plied with drinks—Butterbeer, something that flamed gently in a cup, tall and unlabeled glass bottles of cherry cordial—and food, and she went poking around the room for Hermione. Ron took note, he came over to vigorously shake her hand and told her, “She’s up in your dorm. Lavender and Parvati said she wouldn’t come down.”

“Thanks,” Harriet said, and made quick work snatching up two bottles of Butterbeer. She took them upstairs, where the noise faded the further she went, until she reached the seventh floor, which was preciously silent.

“Hermione?” she called as she opened the door.

The dorm was silent, except for the heavy snuffle of someone trying not to cry. “Oh no,” Harriet said and put down the bottles.

Hermione's bed curtains were half-drawn. Harriet slipped in through them, and lay down next to Hermione, who threw herself at Harriet immediately. Awkwardly, Harriet patted her back.

“I th-th-though you were g-g-going to die!” she sobbed. “A-a-and I couldn’t d-d-do anything!”

Harriet shushed her, and rubbed her back. She was pants when people cried—Hermione always seemed to be able to make feel better, fussing in her firm, bossy way. “You did!” she said. “You told me it was a jinx, so I knew to stay put while someone sorted it. I wouldn’t have held on half as hard if you didn’t—I thought that ruddy broom might explode next! And I didn’t die. That boy caught me.”

“Oh, Harriet!” she said, and wept harder.

“Shh,” Harriet tried. “They’re going to send Aurors, they’ll catch whoever jinxed me and tried to burn down the professors.”

Hermione said wetly, “Millicent did.”

“Millicent jinxed me?”

“No, she set fire to the professor’s stand.” Hermione sat up a little, and wiped at her streaming eyes. “She found me afterwards, when everyone was trying to get your broom down. She said, she…oh Harriet, it’s awful.” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “She said _Professor Snape_ was jinxing you.”

Harriet stilled. Professor Snape was the nastiest towards her. He always gave her awful grades on her essays, and said her potions were swill, even when they came out better than Draco’s. Even when they came out better than Hermione's. And he had told Professor Dumbledore about her, and gave points to people saying horrible things about her. And every time he looked at her, he seemed so hateful. Once, even, at the very start of the year, he’s caught her eye and her scar had hurt…

“My mum said that he hated my James-dad,” she said in a very small voice. “If he was going to hurt me, wouldn’t Dumbledore send him away?”

Hermione was grey in the dim light. “Millicent said she was going to do something nasty to him,” she whispered. “But I told her not to, to wait. Because we didn’t know yet. But she says he was staring at you, right after your broom went mad, and she could see him whispering. She started a fire to make him stop staring, I didn’t know about the eye contact—I knew I should have studied more in Defense. Just because the class is easy doesn’t mean I should have slacked!”

“It’s alright,” Harriet said soothingly. “Millicent’s a pureblood, she knows loads of things we don’t. And you _did_ help, really, Hermione.”

She hugged her, and after a moment Hermione hugged back.

“We can talk to Millicent later,” Harriet said. “And Sally-Anne. We’ll figure out what to do. But, can’t we go down and enjoy the party right now? I mean, we _did_ win my first match.”

Hermione laughed and rubbed at her eyes. “You’re the luckiest person in the world,” she said. “I was so scared when you grabbed your throat, I can’t believe you nearly swallowed the Snitch.”

Harriet laughed, too. “Just watch,” she said jokingly. “I’ve used up all my luck now. I’ll be breaking mirrors and walking under ladders for _months_ after this.”

“Oh, don’t joke about that,” Hermione said, but she let Harriet pull her off the bed and downstairs. Someone had dragged out a gramophone and a bunch of barefoot girls were dancing around it. A raucous Vibes Twins song was playing. Someone had torn down the tapestries and hung up the bedsheet banners on the walls. Someone had charmed the cartoon of Harriet to move—it waved and blew kisses—shockingly red lipstick imprints. The roaring lion made real noise now.

The room was stiflingly hot. Lavender and Parvati were waiting anxiously when they came down, and kissed Harriet's cheeks for luck. "That was amazing flying!" Lavender cried. "The team's over here, look—"

They dragged her and Hermione to where the couches were. The Quidditch team was piled on them, draped with glittering tinsel strings, rudely-shaped balloon hats, and specks of confetti.

Oliver was swaying near the fireplace. Someone had dragged over a table and set him on top of it.

“Toast! Toast! Toast!” everyone was crying. Harriet had nothing to toast with—George obligingly shoved a cup in her hand and a bottle in Hermione's.

Oliver hiccupped, and held up a cup. The noise barely died down, but he roared so loudly it didn’t matter, “TO THE BEST DAMN QUIDDITCH TEAM IN THIS SCHOOL!”

Everyone cheered, and drank. Harriet choked and sputtered on her drink; it raced in burning trails down her throat. He’d given her Firewhiskey!

Fred was climbing up on the table now, bracketing Oliver as he shouted, “TO THE BEST DAMN SEEKER!”

More screams and foot stamping! Fred slung an arm over Oliver’s shoulder. His face was the same color as his hair. “TO PEREGRINE DERRICK!” he shouted. “A PARAGON FOR FLIERS EVERYWHERE!”

It was possibly the only time a Slytherin had ever been cheered in Gryffindor Tower. The noise seemed to shake the very room. Drinks dripped down everyone’s faces, wet the stone floor, soaked the carpets through until everything smelled like sugar and fire.

George, who had snagged Alicia onto his lap, snickered loudly. “A right falcon, he is,” he said. “A paragon falcon!” He dissolved into laughter.

Harriet had put her Firewhiskey down, and was sharing Hermione's Butterbeer. Someone had found, or made, or conjured? A massive cake, and was passing out slices. There were no forks; Harriet, laughing and grinning, ate it with her fingers. Her elbow kept brushing against Hermione's and they shared a mad look, happiness stuck down in their very bones. Harriet wanted to feel like this always, electrified; she thought this was possibly the very best day of her life.

* * *

Harriet and Hermione and Sally-Anne and Millicent met in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom the day after the Quidditch match. Bundled in coats and scarves, they pushed open one of the windows and settled on the floor.

“It’s not Snape,” Millicent said once they were sitting. “I was so sure of him I set his damn robes on fire, and it’s not even him!”

Sally-Anne looked deeply disturbed by this. “You said it was him yesterday!” she hissed.

“Well, that was _before_ I went to his office and threatened him at wand point!”

“ _No_ ,” Harriet said, stunned.

“Yes,” Millicent said. “I wasn’t going to wait around and let him have another bloody go at one of my friends!”

Hermione was pale. “What, what happened?” she demanded.

Millicent sucked in a deep breath, and said very quickly and all at once:

“Well, I went to his office, he always has student hours after dinner, and anyways the Common Room was a miserable place to be. Everyone was drunk and sad. So I went into his office, and pointed my wand at him, and said, ‘Give it up, Snape. Admit to your dastardly deeds and I won’t curse your pants off.’ But he didn’t seem scared or nothing, and told me to put my wand away before he gave me detention, and I said, ‘I lit you on fire once and I ain’t afraid to do it again! I’m not just going to stand here like an idiot while you’re trying to kill Harriet.’”

“And then he said, ‘What do you mean, kill Miss Tonks?’ So I said, ‘Well, everyone knows you hate her, and I saw you at the Quidditch match, you were staring right at her without blinking and muttering something.’”

“And _then_ he said, ‘Miss Bulstrode, you are well aware that I can cast silent magic as per my demonstration at the start of the year, and you _should_ be aware as well that a counter-jinx must be stronger than the jinx itself.’ And then he did that thing with his eyebrows where he’s feeling superior and also disappointed in you?”

“And then he said I was a dunderhead and a fool and he would put me in tutors for Defense because I couldn’t recognize a counter-jinx, and that I was lucky he wasn’t sending my da a bill for his robes. And then he told me he was going to have to cover it up when the Aurors came and that if there was another fire I would be his immediate suspect. He honestly seemed more mad at me admitting to the fire than accusing him.”

Millicent panted, a little out of breath from rushing it out. Hermione put her head in her hands and groaned. “But if he didn’t do it, then we don’t even have a suspect!” she cried.

“What, we’re just going to believe him?” Sally-Anne cried back.

“Can he really cast silent magic?” Harriet demanded.

Millicent nodded. “He lit up all the candles in the Common Room after the feast, and a bunch of other stuff. Mostly so we would mind him better, I think. But he can definitely do it.”

“Then we’re going to have to believe him,” Harriet said. “If he was jinxing me, then he would have done it silently. He’s too clever to do it out loud.”

Sally-Anne was very pale. “But what if he _did_ cast it out loud, like a double blind?” she demanded. “So everyone would think it was the _counter_ -jinx?”

“Oh, this isn’t The Princess Bride,” Hermione said.

Millicent had her eyebrows drawn up. “Why do you want it to be Snape so badly?” she demanded.

Sally-Anne hissed. “Because he hates Harriet, and he’s awful, and he _acts_ evil, and on Halloween he had a huge bite on his leg, like maybe he was trying to get past that horrible dog while everyone else was distracted!”

Harriet realized she had completely forgotten, how it had all blurred into the rest. “He did,” she said. “I saw it, too, only so much happened that I didn’t really remember. But, look, Sally-Anne, I heard something in the hospital wing yesterday.” She hurriedly told them about what Professor Flitwick said about jinxes and Professor Sprout being bitten.

“So we can’t really tell that it’s one of the teachers,” Hermione aid afterwards frowning. “Not if they all know what’s there.”

“Well,” Sally-Anne admitted, “I still don’t like Professor Snape. Something’s not right about him, and just because he’s a teacher here doesn’t mean he should get to bully people.”

“You don’t have to like him, just don’t go around pulling your wand on him,” Millicent told her. “He was only so nice to me because I’m a Slytherin. If a Hufflepuff tried to hold him at wand-point, he’d have an apoplexy.”

Everyone agreed the best course of action would be to avoid Snape for as long as possible. “He’ll hold a grudge, I just know he will,” Harriet moaned. “All my grades are going to go down to Troll!”

“We’ll just spend more time in the library,” Hermione said. “He never goes in there. And we’ve _got_ to put together that list of things it could be.”

“Oh!” Harriet said, remembering. “Madame Pomfrey, she was really upset. She asked if the _stone_ was still there.”

“The stone?” Hermione demanded. “What, like a gemstone?”

“A magic one, probably,” Harriet said. “Think the library will have anything about that?”

Millicent groaned. “I wish every answer didn’t involve the library. Madame Pince caught me chewing Bubble-and-Squeak gum the other day while I was reading and she’s got to be ready to spit fire if she sees me again.”

At Hermione's disbelieving look, she said, “I wasn’t even blowing bubbles with it! But apparently even chewing it is too loud.”

“You’re awful,” Hermione said. “Come on, we had better start looking now. And all of you should bring your homework, too—in case someone asks what we’re doing. And because I know _none_ of you have done it yet.”

“Well, _I_ was a bit busy not dying,” Harriet sniffed.

“You drank so much Butterbeer you were sick. The only thing you might have died from was Excessive Celebration Syndrome.”

They all stood up, except Sally-Anne, who lingered discontentedly.

“Oh, but isn’t there anything we can do to trying and figure out _who_ is after it?” Sally-Anne asked, eyes wet.

“We can wait,” Harriet said soothingly. “And keep our eyes open. They’ll have to try again, and every time they try, we’ve learned something new about them. We know they’re powerful, and we know they’re smart—they broke into Gringotts and got away, remember?—and we know they’re strong enough to wrangle a troll.”

Millicent snorted. “Some strong, genius giant then?” she asked. “Shouldn’t be too hard to spot.”

Sally-Anne fidgeted. “Really,” Harriet told her. “It’ll be alright. And Hermione's right, we’ve got to work with what we have. We don’t know what’s hidden yet, but at least now that’ll be easier to find out than who’s trying to take it.”

“Well, alright,” Sally-Anne said, getting to her feet. “But I don’t like it.”

* * *

In late November, the lake froze solid. According to everyone, this was a rare occurrence, and some of the Professors went down to see if the merpeople were alright. A big group of them were out there as Harriet and Hermione plowed their way back from the green houses through the high drifts of snow. They stopped to watch as the professors argued fiercely with a group of sixth and seventh years, who were trying to levitating huge piles of snow off the lake and shine the ice to a glassy polish.

“I bet they’re going to go skating,” Harriet said wistfully. She felt like she hadn’t had fresh air in forever, never mind walking to her classes or circling the snow-covered pitch under Oliver’s watchful eye. Between classes and practice and putting together presents and research, there hadn't been _any_ extra time.

You’d think, Harriet herself thought, that there would only be a small number of famous magical gems and stones. But even two weeks later, they were _still_ paging through books on the subject. Harriet knew far more than she had ever wanted about dragon stones, for one.

The students had won the argument—they were going back to flinging away the snow. A very short figure, almost as round as it was tall from all the winter clothes, stayed to help them. The wide, flat expanse of the lake beckoned tantalizingly as it was revealed.

Hermione was watching the lake with longing, too. “We’ve been working so hard,” she said. “I think, oh I think I’ll write to my parents and ask them to send my skates!”

Harriet kicked at a clump of greying snow. There hadn’t been another letter since after Halloween, not even when the papers had posted blaring titles about the state of security at Hogwarts. She _knew_ she ought to be pleased—no letter meant her mum trusted Harriet to take care of it herself, but it had been very disheartening.

“I left mine at home,” she said glumly. “And I don’t think Professor Dumbledore is going to let me send for them.”

Hermione squeezed her arm. “That’s alright,” she said. “My feet are hardly bigger than yours. We can take turns.”

“You can use mine,” Ron said from behind them, and they jumped and shrieked.

“Don’t do that!” Harriet demanded, gasping.

“Sorry,” he said and grinned at them crookedly. “Couldn’t help but overhear you.”

Seamus, looking harried, shoved his way past. His eyebrows were gone again, Harriet noticed. “This is a public path!” he shouted over his shoulder. They obligingly shuffled to the side.

“So,” Ron said, and tuck his hands in his pockets. “Skates? We can pad the toes out.”

Harriet considered. “You aren’t going skating?” she asked.

“Not all the time,” he told her easily. “We can share. And anyways, I brought mine already—they’re just upstairs in the Tower.”

Harriet squinted towards the lake. “Well,” she said.

“C’mon,” Ron told her and bounced on his heels. “I’m trying to be a good friend, remember?”

It was very tempting. She sucked at her teeth. “Alright,” she said. “Thanks!”

“You’re welcome,” Ron said and grinned. “Look, George’s dug out a quoits set from somewhere. They’re playing with Lee tonight, but we could have a round afterwards if you want.”

Harriet glanced at Hermione, who seemed smugly pleased. “Are we gonna wager?” Harriet asked.

Ron's grin got bigger. “I’ve got some chocolate frogs still,” he said. “About five of them.”

Harriet considered. “I’ve got a set of the Chudley Cannons player cards.”

“Full set?”

“I’m missing the Seeker.”

“It’s a deal,” Ron said, and they shook.

“Well,” Hermione said to him, pleased. “I’m glad you managed to turn a new leaf.”

Ron flushed a little, but smiled bravely.

Somewhere behind them, something exploded with a tinkle of shattering glass. Harriet pushed herself out of the snow bank she had thrown herself into, and looked back. The greenhouse they had been in was smoking faintly. One of the windows was gone.

“Seamus,” she groaned. “Hermione, we’d better get out of here.”

“See you later,” Ron said companionably as they left. Harriet stuck her tongue out at him, and she and Hermione tromped their way through the rest of the snow. In the hall, leaving wet footprints behind them, Harriet pulled Hermione to the side.

“I want to try something,” she said, and sat down to pull her boots off. “Here, I’ll do yours, too.”

She tugged her wand out of her pocket and thought very carefully about the page she’d read, picturing it in her mind as she squinted. “ _Taweh-owb_ ,” she whispered, picturing the underlined letters.

Gold light gusted out of the end of her wand, and blew across her boots, disappearing the water drops and clinging snow. The boots shivered, stamped themselves, and stood up straighter.

“Brilliant,” Harriet said, and hugged herself. “Here, give me yours.”

Hermione was staring. “That wasn’t in our Charms book,” she said.

Harriet grinned madly. “No, my-a friend told me,” she said, and shivered herself, pleasantly.

Hermione relinquished her boots, and Harriet was just finishing with them, when Professor McGonagall came down the hall towards them. “Miss Granger, Miss Tonks,” she said.

“Hello, Professor,” Harriet said, unembarrassed about being on the floor. Hermione, red-faced, was scrambling into her boots.

“I will refrain from asking whatever it was you were doing,” Professor McGonagall said. “I am sure it was an innovative Muggle technique, and _not_ magic in the corridors, which is strictly forbidden.”

She paused, significantly, and looked away while Harriet shoved her wand in her pocket.

“Did you need something, ma’am?” Hermione asked earnestly as Harriet stood up.

“Miss Tonks has a visitor from the Ministry,” the professor told them. “We will be taking tea in my office. If you are ready, Miss Tonks?”

Harriet made a face at Hermione, but followed Professor McGonagall up to the Transfiguration Corridor. “Is it Mister Taylor?” she asked nervously, and bite at her lip.

Professor McGonagall stopped at the far end of the hallway, and after a look around, straightened Harriet's collar and tugged her robes into place. It was a rather brisk fussing, and Harriet endured it.

“Yes,” Professor McGonagall said shortly as she considered Harriet's hair. “Thankfully he is alone, and not with that woman—Umbridge.”

Harriet gagged dramatically, and took the light smack to the back of her head with a shock. “You hit me!” she squeaked. Professor McGonagall was casting something on her hair now.

“It was barely a tap,” the professor said, so crisply there was no use pursuing it. Harriet was reminded very strongly of being scolded by the Colonel. And then, “I should have brought some gel.”

“It doesn’t work,” Harriet groaned. “Nothing does. Even braids—Hermione has to keep redoing them at lunch.”

“Your father was much the same,” Professor McGonagall said. “You’ve gotten it from his side of the family. Now, be polite.” She cast an eye at Harriet.

“Yes, Professor,” Harriet said meekly.

They marched to the door. Professor McGonagall paused a moment, and sucked in a deep breath, and then she swung open the door.

Harriet had never been to Professor McGonagall’s office before, and looked around with interest. There was a tall desk with several enormous stacks of parchment on it, and two tartan-patterned tins. There were chairs on the other side, where Mister Taylor. And there were loads of things on the walls—pictures and diplomas and trophies.

Harriet wanted to go look at all of them, but Professor McGonagall steered her towards the desk and said, “You may have a seat, Miss Tonks, while I call for tea.”

Harriet sank down next to Mister Taylor and gave him a smile.

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall was pouring tea. “Sugar, Mister Taylor?” she asked crisply.

“Just milk, please,” he said, and shook Harriet's hand. “Miss Tonks, that you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” Harriet said, feeling very grown up. She sat down at the edge of her chair, like her mum did when someone important came to the house, and folded her hands.

Professor McGonagall was passing out teacups and saucers now. “How was your trip here?” the professor asked Mister Taylor politely. “I understand you walked in from Hogsmeade?”

“It was bracing,” Mister Taylor said dryly. “But don’t trouble yourself making small talk. I’m not offended in the least to get down to business. Miss Tonks?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I understand you had some trouble recently, regarding your Quidditch match.”

Harriet shot an alarmed look at Professor McGonagall, but she didn’t say anything. “Er, yes,” Harriet said. “I fell off my broom.”

Mister Taylor nodded. He had the same listening quality that Professor Flitwick had. Harriet swallowed. “But I wasn’t hurt,” she said desperately. “And my parents weren’t even there!”

Mister Taylor looked taken aback. He put his teacup down and said, firmly, “I know they were not there, Miss Tonks. No need to look so alarmed—this isn’t a test. No, I am merely assuring myself that you are well here, as I must by law.”

Harriet looked at Professor McGonagall again. She stared back evenly. “Um,” Harriet said. “You aren’t going to take me away from Hogwarts, are you, sir?”

He sighed. “No, Miss Tonks. I have no intention of removing you from Hogwarts. However, if the matter has not been dealt with—?”

“Aurors will be coming during the break to perform a thorough investigation,” Professor McGonagall said. “The Ministry has assured me, this is the soonest they can be spared.”

“Then I must be satisfied in the Ministry’s response,” Mister Taylor said, sounding annoyed. "Certainly, they are convinced they know best."

“As for other matters, I regret to inform you that you will have to stay here during the holidays, Miss Tonks. I am sure others will invite you into their homes, but I must ask you to decline. You are technically a ward of the Ministry, and there is concern that whoever hosts you during the holidays will be seen as a potential foster family.”

Harriet thought this was magnificently stupid, but nodded just because Mister Taylor seemed so put out by the possibility, too. “Can I write my parents, at least?” she asked. “Just, just a card?”

He offered her another smile. “I will ensure your Christmas presents are passed along, and anything you wish to send your family, you may address to me instead and I will do likewise with those. It’s not the merriest of solutions, but this was all I could get my superiors to agree to.”

He sighed, and told Professor McGonagall, “They had to be shamed at length to even allow this. The nerve of them!”

Harriet had tried very hard not to hope, and she swallowed bravely and rubbed at her eyes. Mister Taylor’s sad smile blurred.

“Have a biscuit, Miss Tonks,” Professor McGonagall said. Harriet took one—it was gingery and hot in her mouth.

“I believe that the last time you were here, you mentioned there would be interviews, Mister Taylor?” Professor McGonagall asked as Harriet chewed. “Do you have a schedule in mind for there?”

“Miss Tonks is a very low priority case,” Mister Taylor said. “There are other cases I am in charge of that might have much more…eclectic outcomes. As it stands, I will have the time and attention necessary to interview Miss Tonks in the spring. Perhaps around February. Will this suit?”

“I wouldn’t push it any further,” Professor McGonagall said shortly. “Exams.”

“Ahh,” Mister Taylor said, and nodded. “February then. Miss Tonks, any objections to this?”

“Please not on a Quidditch day,” Harriet said, wiping crumbs off her fingertips. “The Gryffindor Captain would go spare.”

“I believe I can manage that,” Mister Taylor said. “Miss Tonks, I understand that this will not be the holly-est and jolliest of holiday seasons you’ve had, but Hogwarts at Christmas is, well, an experience. I hope you don’t find it a hardship to remain here.”

He’d said it with such a straight face and mild tone that Harriet couldn’t help but giggle. “It’s alright, sir,” she said. “And thank you for sending things to my parents.”

“It is the very least I could do,” he told her. “Now, I have co-opted your afternoon long enough. There’s no more business for today, Miss Tonks.”

Harriet looked at Professor McGonagall. “Professor?”

She fixed Harriet with a look. “You may go, Miss Tonks,” she said. “I am sure your friends are anxiously awaiting your arrival in the library.”

Her eyes glinted, just a little. One eyelid lowered just for a second, in what might have been a knowing wink. Harriet felt her own eyes rounding—she stood up and scrambled for her things. “Bye, Mister Taylor!” she cried, and left in a flurry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, i am so sorry i missed the mid-week update. there was a massive pipe-leak at my house and i spent all day dancing on towels instead of finishing the chapter.
> 
> as an apology, i've got the promised work up for out-takes and behind the scenes. _carry out the pictures_. it should be linked in the series. feel free to request a scene here in the comments, or on my tumblr. i've got anonymous asks turned on in case anyone is shy!
> 
> as for the next chapter, it's basically going to be: christmas! christmas! christmas! i've had a super lot of fun planning out all the little details, and am looking forward to wrapping it up and posting it for y'all! there's spread sheets of cracker prizes, deep thoughts about christmas feasts, and surprise bonding!!!
> 
> fun fact: did you know the best christmas movie in existence came out in 1966? that's plenty of time for our heroines to learn all the lyrics!
> 
> as always, your kudos, comments, and bookmarks make my heart grow ten sizes too big. hope y'all enjoy this chapter as much as the last! <3333333333


	7. Chapter 7

November turned into December in a wave of snow and good-cheer. Even the professors seemed to look forward to the break from classes. One day Harriet and Hermione came down to the Common Room and found someone had charmed the Gryffindor bedsheet lion into a Santa hat. It jingled now when you prodded with a wand, and roared if you bowed or curtsied at it.

“Honestly,” Hermione huffed, when she tried to pull it down and learned about the existence of Permanent Sticking Charms. “What if Professor McGonagall sees this?”

“She’ll think it’s funny,” Lee said, from where he was sitting in the window sill. His tarantula, Rosie, was trying to juggle several tiny silver bells, and tossed one at his head when he turned away from her. “Hey!”

That, Hermione did laugh at. They were still giggling when they shoved their way through the people in the Common Room and headed towards the library. It was their last chance to research—the train taking all the students home for the holidays was leaving tomorrow morning.

Harriet had been very careful not to say anything about having to stay behind; Ron had confided in her that he and his brothers were also staying, and he had told her in a whisper that Neville was remaining as well. This, Harriet felt, was all the companionship she could possibly need.

Millicent and Sally-Anne were already there. Sally-Anne was as peaceable as usual, but Millicent looked like she had swallowed a storm cloud. “You tell them,” she said in a furious whisper as Hermione and Harriet sat down and stowed their bags at their feet.

“What is it?” Hermione asked. “Did you find something?”

“No,” Millicent said, scowling. “But she’s ruined Christmas.”

Harriet cast an exaggerated look around. “You didn’t tell her about Father Christmas not being r-e-a-l, did you?” she whispered. Millicent reached a long arm across the table and thumped Harriet.

“She’s bloody signed herself up to stay here!” Millicent hissed. “When any one of us would have taken her home!”

Hermione frowned. “Oh, Sally-Anne,” she said. “You didn’t! Oh, maybe it’s not too late. We’ll go talk to Professor Sprout right now!”

Harriet, feeling vaguely uncomfortable, offered Sally-Anne a grin. “It’s not too bad,” she said easily. “I’ll be here to keep her company, won’t I?”

Sally-Anne glowed. But Millicent and Hermione only looked angrier. “I ought to have known,” Hermione said. “You were really leaving your packing to the last minute.”

“Well, so have I,” Millicent said crossly. “And I’m going to be on that train tomorrow. But if you’d just told me—”

“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” Sally-Anne said.

“Tonks, I can stand,” Millicent went on. “Those Ministry men never would have let her go. But Hufflepuffs _don’t_ stay during the holidays. Sally-Anne’s breaking a hundred year tradition. She’ll be the only one in her bloody House. Sprout was damn near in tears over it.”

“Are you really going to be alone?” Harriet asked.

Sally-Anne nodded. “I didn’t want to tell anyone,” she said softly. “My mummy asked me to stay—she’s still in New York. They’re having all kinds of trouble with the Nutcracker sets, and need her there. But it’s alright, Milly,” she said sweetly. “Harriet's staying, too. We’ll keep each other company.”

“We can do one more than that,” Harriet said cheerfully. “If Hermione doesn’t mind you using her bed, you can come bunk up in the Tower with me.”

Hermione and Millicent brightened. “Oh, yes,” Hermione cried. “We’ll make her an honorary Gryffindor! Then no one’s breaking any traditions.”

“But doesn’t it get awfully cold up there?” Sally-Anne asked. She was trying to hide behind her hands, but couldn’t disguise how pleased she looked.

“We’ve got the best fires in the whole school,” Harriet told her. “You’ll wake up sweating. Please, Sally-Anne? I’m the only girl in the whole House staying this year.”

Sally-Anne fidgeted. “Oh, alright,” she said at last. “We had better go ask Professor Sprout and McGonagall if I may, though.”

“They’re still in the hall,” Millicent said. “They’re decorating it. I’ll run and ask them.” She shoved her chair away with a loud scrape and took off pounding out the door. Madame Pince looked up with a sharp expression, and started to come over.

“Come on,” Harriet said, grabbing her bag up. “We’d better go too.”

The entrance to the Great Hall was now capped with enormous fir trees. The air smelled like snow, and fir tree, and something sharp and bright. Hermione, peering through the doors, said, “You’d better take that Hufflepuff tie off.”

“Here, take my tie,” Harriet said cheerfully. “I hate wearing it. There, now we just need a Sorting Hat!”

Sally-Anne pulled the tie over her head. “It feels awfully weird,” she told them, and ran a finger across the golden lion at the bottom of the tie. “And lions are awfully scary—that’s why I didn’t want Gryffindor in the first place.”

“We’ll all be nice lions,” Harriet told her. She peered around Hermione's shoulder—the professors and Millicent were standing near one of the enormous, undecorated trees. “Look, Millicent’s already talking to the professors. We’d better go in, they look happy now.”

Professor McGonagall was smiling faintly when they got there. Professor Sprout was beaming. “What a novel idea,” she told Millicent. “Yes, I believe that would work. Sally-Anne, my dear, your friend says you want to be a lion for the holidays?”

Sally-Anne flushed red from the attention. “Please,” she managed.

“Well, if Professor McGonagall has no objections—”

Professor McGonagall removed her tall witch’s hat in a swift move and put it on Sally-Anne’s head. With a wave of her wand, a mouth opened in the middle and announced, “Gryffindor!”

"I will always welcome another well-braved cub," Professor McGonagall said as she took her hat back. "Miss Perks may set aside some of her clothes and the elves will bring them up to the Tower. In fact, Pomona, if you would like to trade—" They turned away, toward the trees again.

Harriet clapped enthusiastically. Even Millicent seemed cheered, despite the reflexive wince. “That’s settled,” she said happily. “Now I won’t have to worry about either of you going spare while we’re gone.”

“We’ll just drive each other spare,” Harriet said and slung an arm around Sally-Anne’s shoulders. “Look, Sally-Anne, come up to the Tower tomorrow after everyone’s left, and I’ll show you around. It’s really crowded right now. Everyone’s trying to finish all their Christmas presents.”

“Alright,” Sally-Anne said gratefully. “Only what are we going to do now?”

“Not the library,” Millicent said at once. “I’m going to go three weeks without seeing any of you—I’m not spending our last day together reading books.”

Hermione harrumphed.

“Come on,” Millicent said. “You can’t tell me you really _want_ to go look through thousand year old books written on pieces of maybe-human skin.”

That discover hadn't gone over well with any of them. harriet shuddered remembering; she'd spent half an hour in the haunted loo, scrubbing her hands aggressively.

“Well, no,” Hermione said.

“Then it’s settled. We have to do something fun.”

“My dears,” Professor Sprout said over her shoulder to them, interrupting PRofessor McGonagall. “There’s a skating party going down to the lake. Why don’t you go with them?”

“But the decorations!” Sally-Anne said. “Milly, didn’t you say you wanted to come down and help the professors?”

Professor McGonagall, who was now trimming the tree with tinsel, said dryly, “I was told there would be a bonfire, Miss Bulstrode. Your Head of House mentioned you had an affinity?”

Millicent went all over red. “We’ll come back for dinner,” she told Sally-Anne. “Look at all the decorations and things. It will be ready by then, right, Professors?”

Now Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout were growing enormous golden and silver bobbles out of the ends of their wand, and sending them flying to rest on the branches.

“Hopefully,” Professor McGonagall said, and gave the tip of her wand a spin, which turned her bauble clear with golden sparkles. “There’s a better chance of it if you leave us be, Miss Bulstrode.”

“Well,” Hermione said. “That’s settled then. I’ll run up and get my skates and Ron's, since Harriet's already got her coat on. Harriet, do you want me to take your bag? No? Alright.” She disappeared out the doors.

“Let’s go, Perks,” Millicent said, and steered Sally-Anne towards the dungeon.

“I’ll just stay here then,” Harriet said to nobody, feeling put out. It wasn’t her fault she was cold all the time, she thought. She hoped Hermione brought her back a scarf.

The professors were busy, so she skulked around the farthest of the empty trees, and took a look around. No one was watching.

“Convenusto,” she said in a whisper, moving her wand in a widdershins circle and giving two even flicks.

A delicately frosted glass ball emerged from the tip of her wand, and with her hand shaking, she set it on a branch, where it hung lightly.

When it didn’t shatter into sparkles, or disappear in a flash, or fade back into nothingness, she beamed. “Convenusto,” she said again, and thought warm thoughts. This glass ball was a gleaming red. She put it next to the first one.

No one seemed to see her, or care. Harriet dug into her bag. It was still there, tucked in the middle of her Potions textbook. She flipped to the end, nearly the last page, and re-read it quickly.

_—was so pretty._

_I liked the little pears Profesor Flitwick made the best. They reminded me of the tree at home. I wanted to ask if I could send one to Tuney, but I didn’t know if her school would let her hang it up. They seem so strict there!_

_I’ll bring one home next year, when we have the holidays together. But until then, I’m going to hang them all around my bed and the Common Room._

_Convenusto Cumpiro, I think that’s how Profesor Flitwick spelled it. A ~~diesel~~ deasil circle with the wand at exactly chest height, and two flicks at the end, the first flick only a little bigger than the second. Neither flick should reach higher than your shoulder._

Harriet scrutinized the little drawing and put the book away very carefully. She’d been practicing all last night—but hadn’t actually tried it. “Convenusto Cumpiro,” she said, waving her wand carefully, and watched as a fat glass pear blossomed out the end to join the other ornaments. She made a second, then a third, each of them the same sweet and glowing gold.

She picked up the last one off its branch. It was cool when she picked it up, and firm and slick like glass.

Had her mum ever sent Aunt Petunia one of the pears? The diary ended at Christmas Eve. Harriet had torn through it after the Quidditch match, and now she was in agony over it. Four measley months of her mother’s life wasn’t nearly enough!

She wanted to know more! Did her mother get a good grade in Transfiguration, her worst subject? Did her Slytherin friend—Sevy—ever forgive her for going to Gryffindor? What about Dorcas, who was struggling with her wand work, or Mary, who was homesick, or Marlene, who was always getting into trouble for being smart. Did they all really have to serve detention on Christmas day for laughing at her impression of Professor Slughorn?

Something crashed down behind her. She fumbled with the pear, and nearly dropped it, whirling around to see—

An enormously tall man, the one who had guided them on the boats. He was adjusting a new tree, making sure it fit the stand. She was scrunching up nose, trying to remember his name, when he looked up. His eyes were friendly black beetles between his beard and his eyebrows.

“Alrigh’ there, Harry?” he asked. “Sorry I startled yeh. Did’n want to say sumthin’, yeh seemed pretty busy makin’ ornaments.”

“Um,” Harriet said. “I’m—did you bring in all these trees?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Cut ‘em down, too. Now, lemme see.” He gently took the pear from her numb fingers, and considered it before breaking out into a smile that seemed three miles long. “Lily were always good at these,” he told Harriet, and handed the pear back carefully. “I don’ think James ever managed more’n the round ones. Not for lack of tryin’, yeh know. Just couldn’ get the wand work righ’. They all exploded comin’ out.”

Harriet stared.

“Ah, Hagrid,” Professor McGonagall called. “Excellent choices as always.” Her shoes clicked as she came over. “Hagrid grows and cuts all the Christmas trees for the castle,” she told Harriet.

“Tha’s nothin’,” Hagrid said. “Jus’ the right compost and not too much water. Here, Harry, show the professor what yeh made. I reckon she’s got her mum’s touch, Professor McGonagall. Got tha’ spell right off.” He smiled at Harriet.

“Miss Tonks?” Professor McGonagall said.

Harriet was still holding the pear. She hung it back on the tree, fumbling, and gasped when it fell and shattered. “I’ve got to go—” she said desperately, and ran.

Outside the Great Doors, she huddled into her coat and wiped at her eyes. It was windy—when it shifted she could hear the laughter and screams from the lake, smell the smoke of the bonfire. She drifted toward them, and watched the brightly dressed skaters.

The doors creaked open again. It was Hagrid, Harriet knew. No one else shook the ground a little just by walking.

“Here now,” he said, and offered her a ragged brown handkerchief. It smelled like hay when Harriet put her nose in it. “Did’n mean to upset yeh.”

Harriet sniffled. “Sorry I ran away,” she said damply. “I wasn't expecting, no one talks about them to me. Not really, not people who actually knew them. Did you really know my mum and dad? Or just—”

“Jus’ hear about them? S’spect people ‘ave been doin’ that to yeh, pretendin’. Nah, we were mates. I knew yeh, too, when yeh were a baby.” Hagrid put an enormous hand on her shoulder. “Made sumthin’ for you, for Christmas and all. I was gonna wait, but I don’ think there’s anythin’ wrong with yeh getting it early. Listen, tomorrow after everyone leaves, yeh come down to my house and we’ll have tea. I’ll tell yeh about yer parents and give yeh yer present. How’s that?”

Harriet wiped her nose. “I’d like that,” she said. Hagrid was smiling again, his teeth very white against his beard.

“I thought yeh would. Come down any time yeh like, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. He’d known her as a baby? He was going to tell her about her parents! She hugged him, fiercely, and he put a hand on her head.

“Enough a’ that,” he told her, and rubbed her head very gently. Millicent and Hermione and Sally-Anne were running down the path. “Yeh run along now, go play with yer friends.”

Harriet pulled away, face red, and saw how his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Alright,” she said. “Bye, Hagrid.”

* * *

There were carriages all lined up below the castle the next day after breakfast. Hermione and Millicent stared at them with some trepidation. “Something’s got to be pulling them,” Millicent said uneasily. “Something invisible. If they’ve got the ghost doing it and ours ends up with Peeves—"

“Oh, honestly, Millicent,” Hermione said. “The ghosts can’t leave the grounds. If you ever read something outside of _romance novels_ —”

“Oh, honestly,” Harriet said loudly. “I’m going to miss the two of you, if you ever actually leave.”

Sally-Anne laughed. “That’s really rude,” she told Harriet.

“Hmm, let me try again,” Harriet said. “Please leave, you’re driving me barmy.”

Millicent cackled. “I see how it is, Tonks,” she said. “Just watch, the second we leave, you’ll be weeping and wailing.”

“Go!” Harriet said, and gave her a big shove. “Or the world may never know!”

Millicent cackled again, but climbed into the carriage. “Keep an eye on her, Perks,” she called. “Too much crying can make you sick.” Sally-Anne followed her, and kissed Millicent’s cheek, saying something softly.

Hermione looked amused. She hugged Harriet fiercely. “I’ll write,” she said. “You two, try the library still, alright?”

Harriet hugged her back. “We’ll have our nose to the grindstone,” she said. “Have a good Christmas, ‘Mione. And Bulstrode, I guess.”

They were leaning out of the carriage, making faces at Harriet and Sally-Anne when the long line started moving. For a second, Harriet was scared Hermione would fall out, but Millicent reeled her back in by the back of her robes and slammed the little window shut on Hermione's dismayed shriek.

They stood there, waving goodbye, until the carriages had passed through the gates and started the long, winding climb to Hogsmeade station.

Sally-Anne was sniffling a little. “I’ll miss them,” she said to Harriet. “Oh, but I’m a little glad, too. Is that wicked? I couldn’t hardly take any more of their talking about going home.”

“Let’s not talk about that, Harriet said, stamping feeling back into her cold feet. She agreed, as little as she wanted to mention it. “If I start crying, the tears will freeze and I’ll have to scrape them off. Bet it’ll get the first layer of skin, too.”

Sally-Anne groaned. “That’s disgusting,” she said, and towed Harriet back towards the castle by her hand.

It wasn’t at all hard to be merry once everyone had left, like Harriet thought it might have been. They raced back to the castle and startled a group of pigeons that were pecking around in front of the doors. They laughed when all the birds took off and tumbled head over tail in the harsh wind.

Hogwarts felt just as good now as it did when all the students were there—centuries of happiness were ground into the stones. “Did the elves bring your things up?” she asked Sally-Anne as the big doors clanged shut behind them.

“Yes, earlier. Almost all my winter clothes. I know you said the fire was very warm, but it’s so windy!”

“You’ll like it,” Harriet said. “Come on, I bet Ron's got something toasting. He was talking all about that at breakfast.”

Even the walk up to the Tower was cheerful; several portraits were caroling, and all the doorways were festooned with mistletoe and holly. There wasn’t an awful silence, like Harriet had been afraid of. Their footsteps were part of a merry tune, instead.

The Fat Lady squinted at them when they approached. “That one’s a Gryffindor?” she demanded.

“Gloria in excelsis,” Harriet told her, and she swung open with a huff. She had to boost Sally-Anne over the side of the portrait hole because her shoes kept slipping, and they were flushed with the effort when tumbled into the empty Common Room.

“Oh!” Sally-Anne said, and turned around in a slow circle, eyes wide. “It’s so pretty!”

Harriet looked around herself. The seventh-years had hung live fir branches in graceful arches, and floated brilliant twinkling lights just below the ceiling. At night, when all the lamps were out and the fire was burning down, they looked like far away stars.

Sally-Anne was laughing now—she had spotted the lion. “Here,” Harriet said. “Do like me!”

She curtsied, and Sally-Anne copied her, much more gracefully. The lion roared obligingly and shook his hat so the bells rang.

“It’s wonderful!” Sally-Anne cried. “Magical, and, and amazing! Oh, our Common Room is cozy, but it just looks like a house. This is part of a castle, you can tell.”

Harriet beamed.

“Come up to the dorm,” she told Sally-Anne. “It’s the highest one—everything looks beautiful from up there. You can practically see Hogsmeade. Maybe we can watch the train leave!”

They went up the stairs, and Sally-Anne rushed to one of the windows. “It’s almost as good as the Astronomy Tower,” she told Harriet without looking away from the window. “It’s wonderful.”

“And look,” Harriet said as she fell back onto her bed. “It’s hardly cold at all.”

The room as delightfully warm. The small fire flickering in the fireplace heated it enough that the skim of ice across the window had long melted away. Harriet rolled over across the crisp sheets and kicked her shoes off so they thumped across the floor.

“We should go down in a little bit,” she said drowsily. “Have you ever toasted marshmallows or bread before?”

“No,” Sally-Anne said. She’d taken down her hair, which Harriet hadn’t ever seen before. It was sheeting across her cheek in pale gold waves. “I wasn’t really allowed to eat sweets or bread a lot. I had to stay at dancing weight all the time, and the ballet master, Mister Chauvet, was really mean if you didn’t. He didn’t yell or anything, but he’d make us do these stretches—”

“Ugh,” Harriet groaned. “Don’t tell me anymore, my legs hurt just thinking about it. Anyways, it’s brilliant. ‘Specially when stuff burns. I’ll show you.”

“Oh,” Sally-Anne cried. “Come quick, the train’s leaving!”

Harriet scrambled up and joined her at the window. That brilliant crimson engine and the slick black cars were winding through the hills, south towards London. “They’re definitely gone then,” she said. “I’m a little glad.”

Sally-Anne shot her a smile.

“Let’s go down,” Harriet said, smiling back. “I bet Ron's there, and probably Neville. Do you know Neville? You’ll like him, he’s maybe more shy than you are.”

The boys were in the Common Room now, crowding on low wooden stools near the fireplace, laughing as they uncovered a basket from the kitchens.

“Harriet!” Ron cried. “Here, come join us. Fred and George got all this lot, but they didn’t want any—they’re going down to Hogsmeade and won’t be back for ages.”

There were other stools waiting. Harriet dropped onto one and pulled Sally-Anne down next to her. “This is Sally-Anne,” she said easily. “Don’t call her Sally, she’s got a mean right hook. Here, Sally-Anne, this is Ron, and this is Neville.”

“Hello,” Neville said around an enormous piece of toast, his hand over his mouth. His jaw worked frantically, and he swallowed, and shook Sally-Anne’s hand. He was nearly scarlet, but Harriet thought it was alright, Sally-Anne was red, too.

“Here, have a fork,” Ron said and passed on over. “You, too, Harriet. We’ve got bread and marshmallows and muffins, and some sausages. Blimey, Fred’n’George got a bit of everything.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why the kitchen staff like them so much, they must raid the place twice a week.”

Harriet bent over the basket. “There’s pineapple,” she gasped, and loaded up her fork at once.

She glanced over as she passed the basket, and saw Neville offering Sally-Anne a piece of toast. “It’s good,” she said as she nibbled it. “Thank you, Neville.”

They were smiling at each other, tentatively. Neville was helping her pick something from the basket, now. Harriet stuck her fork in the fire and grinned.

“Go on with the joke then, Neville,” Ron said after a few minutes. “Neville's been telling me jokes all day, because Fred and George told him I wet myself once laughing. Hasn’t worked yet. He’s funny, too.”

“I don’t know,” Neville said and shot Harriet and Sally-Anne an anxious look. “I don’t know if you’d like it.”

“I love jokes,” Harriet said, and put a piece of nearly black pineapple in her mouth. “Sally-Anne does too, or she wouldn’t laugh at Millicent as much.” She fended off the smack aimed at her with good cheer.

“Go on,” Sally-Anne said encouragingly, settling down.

“Err, alright,” Neville said. He drew himself up, and waving his toasting fork officiously, asked, “Why’ve ducks got webbed feet?”

Sally-Anne furrowed her brows. “I dunno,” she said.

“To stamp out forest fires,” Neville said. He paused for their laughter, and demanded, “Why’ve elephants got flat feet?”

“To stamp out forest fire!” Harriet said.

“To stamp out burning ducks,” Neville told her with a straight face.

Ron started laughing, which rapidly turned into a wheeze. The bit of sausage had fallen off his fork into the fire, he was shaking so much. “Burning ducks!” he squeaked.

They laughed, at Ron and at the joke. Neville was smiling, very pleased, now. Harriet thought it looked loads nicer than his usual worried frown. “Do another,” she said. “Go on. Ron's not wet himself yet.”

“Hey!” Ron cried. And then, “No, my sausage!”

“Why did the first elephant fall out of the tree?” Neville asked.

“Why?” they all demanded.

“Because it was dead! Why’d the second elephant fall out of the tree?”

“Because it was glued to the first one!”

Harriet made the mistake of imagining it, and cackled helplessly into her hands. The elephant-ish expression of dismay—

“Why’d the third elephant fall out of the tree?”

“I don’t know,” Sally-Anne gasped. Harriet was glad, she couldn’t answer and Ron was wheezing again, bent over his knees laughing silently.

“It thought the others were playing a game. Why did the tree fall down?”

“It wanted to be an elephant!”

It didn’t make any sense; Harriet couldn’t stop laughing. At Sally-Anne’s expression when she realized there was no point to the joke, at Ron's silent shaking as he slid off his stool, and at Neville's pleased expression. She laughed so hard her sides ached.

And then were more jokes, and hot food, and only people she liked, who didn't stare at her or care who her parents were. It was a brilliant way to spend the afternoon.

* * *

At four o’clock, Harriet bundled herself up tightly in a sweater and her coat and scarf, slipped on her mittens, and made her way out onto the lawn. Sally-Anne and Ron and Neville were napping on the sofas of the Common Room, stuffed full of toast and the heavy mugs of hot chocolate that had shimmered onto the hearth around two.

Harriet had been too excited to sleep, and had curled into an arm-chair with Lily’s journal, re-reading the last few pages. They were a little crinkled where she had fallen asleep on them the night before, and she straightened them out before she put the little book away.

This would be better, she thought. Learning about her mum and dad when they were grown-ups. She liked reading about her mum at eleven, but Lily Evans in her first year felt more like a friend, and less like a _mum_.

Hagrid’s house was a small, squat wooden cabin near the tree line, the little brick chimney sending cheerful smoke into the air. There was a big furrow into snow banks from the hut to the castle, and Harriet hardly had to battle through any snow to get there. She knocked on the door eagerly, and jumped at the furious barrage of barks and the jingle of bells.

“Back Fang!” Hagrid cried. “Hang on a mo’! Fang, get back!”

The door creaked open a little. Hagrid’s cheerful face appeared, and then something large and dark burst through the crack and knocked Harriet back onto the slushy ground. She cried out as her face was thoroughly washed.

Hagrid took the dog by its collar, the bells on it jingling furious, and pulled it off. “Yeh ought t’ be ashamed of yerself,” he told the dog and gave it a shake. “I told yeh to be a gentleman. Mind yer manners, Fang!”

The dog wagged furiously.

“Sorry about tha’,” Hagrid said. “Here, lemme give yeh a hand.”

It only took one hand, Harriet learned, for Hagrid to pick her up and set her on her feet. He dusted off the back of her coat, and said, “Hope yeh aren’t afraid of dogs.”

“I love them,” Harriet said at once. “We’ve got a big, fat cat at home, but I’ve always wanted a dog.” Fang was whining now as Harriet crouched and pet his head and rubbed his ears.

“Come in, come in,” Hagrid told her, and herded her through the door. There was a cleared patch of floor—Harriet sat down and let Fang try to prove he was a lap-dog. He crammed his shoulders onto her lap, and Harriet giggled as his leg started thumping a scant second after she scratched his belly.

Hagrid didn’t seem like the type of person to care if she was on the floor, like Harriet's mum might have. He just stepped over her and went to the fireplace, where a big copper kettle was hanging. “Water’s almos’ hot,” he said as he poked at the fire. “Take a look around if yeh want.”

The cabin was only one room, but a large room, and cheerful. It was a very cozy place to live, Harriet thought.

There were hams hanging from the ceiling, and bunches of herbs drying, which gave the place a faintly forest-y smell. There was a round table by the window, and a bench on one side with chairs on the other. One was a rocking chair with a ball of yarn and a set of needles left on the seat. A crowded wall of bookshelves nestled next to an enormous bed made neatly with a quilt.

“Here we go,” Hagrid said as the kettle let out a piercing whistle. “Yeh’ll be havin’ a weak tea, o’ course. Nah, don’ get up. Yeh can drink it just as easy on th’ floor. And don’ make tha’ face. Yer short enough as it is. I ain’t given yeh sumthin’ tha’ll keep yeh from growin’.”

Harriet took the teacup before Fang could stick his nose in it. “Were my mum and dad short?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“Well, yer da was a shrimp right ‘til he were thirteen or so. Yer mum was tall, tallest in her year. Went right up like a beansprout th’ whole time she were here. Took yer da two whole years to catch up once he started growin’. He used t’ come have tea with me and talk and laugh all abou’ how he liked tall women, ‘til she picked ‘im up by th’ collar one day, an’ then suddenly it weren’t so funny.”

Harriet drank his words up. It was the best thing she had ever heard.

Hagrid was sitting in one of the chairs now, clanking his own soup-bowl sized cup on the table. “There’s tha’ smile,” he said approvingly, eyes crinkling. “Yeh were always smilin’ as a baby. Made yer mum crazy—yeh’d smile at thin air like it were the best thing yeh’d ever seen. I tol’ her, weren’t nothin’ wrong with tha’, yeh’re jus’ a happy baby.”

“What did she say then?”

“Tha’ she was leavin’ yeh and yer da before yeh were a teenager. Said yeh were usin’ up all her nerves before yeh were even a year old. But she were laughin’ when she said it.”

Fang was licking Harriet's hands now, whining softly. She put her teacup down and rubbed his ears until he was drooling. “She loved me,” she told the dog almost absentmindedly.

“’Course she did,” Hagrid said. “Her and yer da. Would have been proud of yeh, too. I never would ‘ave heard th’ end a’ it, if they were still ‘round. They would’a been terrible abou’ it. Down a’ my house every day, tellin’ me this and tha’.”

There was a comfortable silence. The fire crackled. Harriet drank her tea as Fang went to sleep in her lap, watching his slow slide onto the floor.

“Righ’,” Hagrid said. “S’ppose I should give yeh yer present now.” He got up and went over to the bookshelf and selected a book carefully. It had a blank leather spine on it. “Here, come on up to th’ table. Don’ want Fang droolin’ on this.”

Harriet scooted around the table and sat at the bench. She was eager, confused a little. She’d never gotten a Christmas present that wasn’t from a Tonks before.

“Go on then,” Hagrid said as he put the book down in front of her. “Give it a look.”

The front cover was blank, too. Harriet opened it, carefully, and was glad she had left her teacup on the floor. She would have spilled it with the jerk she gave.

It was a boy, standing at the seashore. He was snot-nosed a little, grinning with his eyes squinted up, hair so messy it looked like a haystack. Her dad, her James-dad, no older than she was now. He waved frantically at her. If her hair had been shorter, her glasses rounder, they could have been twins.

And underneath it, a still photo, yellowed a little with age. A Muggle picture.

Harriet knew her at once, that long tumble of red hair and the enormous green eyes and the sly smile, like she had a wonderful secret and if you leaned in a little, she’d let you in, whisper it right in your ear. Her mum, just a little girl still.

“Tha’ one were hard t’ get,” Hagrid said. “Had t’ go ‘round to yer aunt and uncle’s place—think they gave them photos t’ me jus’ to get me t’ leave.”

Harriet sniffled. She couldn’t speak; she’d burst into tears if she tried.

Hagrid seemed to understand. He rubbed the top of her head lightly. “It weren’t no trial or nothin’,” he said. “An’ I figured, yer mum and dad wouldn’ be havin’ many photos. Lily an’ James were friends with them Tonkses an’ all, but they only knew ‘em for a few years. So I wrote ‘round t’ the old crowd, askin’ for pictures. I weren’t much of a picture taker meself, an’ I didn’ wanna say nothin’ ‘til I had ‘em.”

“We didn’t,” Harriet said in a very small voice. It was hard to think. "Only, one or two."

“Well, yeh keep lookin’, then, an’ if yeh don’ mind, I’ll have a smoke.”

Hagrid lit his pipe with a long match, and puffed agreeably at it. The warm smell of tobacco filled the room. It was like being on an alien planet, Harriet thought, sitting with a man who’d tell her anything she wanted to hear about her parents. Who gave her two lifetimes in pictures and wouldn’t even accept a thank-you.

“Go on then,” Hagrid said easily.

Harriet turned another page. Here was a wedding photo, her mum in an enormous poofy dress and her dad in slick black robes. They were smiling fit to burst, her dad looking at her mum like she was the best thing he'd ever seen and her mum blowing kisses.

“Dumbledore gave me tha’ one,” Hagrid said.

On the page opposite her mum was holding _her_! Baby Harriet opened enormous eyes, brilliant green like her mum’s, and stared. And there was another woman, with her own baby. Her round, smiling face seemed familiar.

“Tha’s yeh, yer mum, yer godmum, and her son. They had yeh both righ’ in th’ same room. Made visitin’ real easy.”

Harriet pulled her eyes away. “I thought my m—Andromeda was my godmother.” She’d never asked—it seemed so obvious.

“Yeh can call her yer mum,” Hagrid said easily. “It don’ bother me none.”

“My mum, then,” Harriet said, wonderingly. “I thought she was my godmum. She, she’s the one who raised me.”

“Well, yer mums were friends,” Hagrid said. “But Andromeda were yer mum’s boss. It wouldn’ been righ’. And anyways, with Alice an’ yer mum givin’ birth nearly on th’ same day, she thought it were a bit of a sign.”

“Alice,” Harriet said. “Alice who? Who’s, who’s my godbrother?”

Hagrid puffed and sighed. “Shame they didn’ tell yeh. Yeh know Neville? He’s been down here more’n once or twice. Comes fer stories an’ such, helps me in my garden. A good lad, yer godbrother.”

Harriet stared at the picture, looking at the drooling face, the thin wisps of blond hair. A shame? It was worse than a shame. “I always wanted a brother,” she said. “And I suppose we’ve got a bit of a tradition, getting new siblings for Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! it's still thursday where i live, so this is _technically_ a midweek update! cue the celebratory kazoos!
> 
> there's bonding! pears! peers! and pictures! and hagrid, because i love that guy. 
> 
> as for this chapter, if the ending seems a little abrupt, it's because christmas is getting enormous and i had to hack it in half. it seemed a little cheesy though to put a "to be continued..." anyways, more christmas is coming, including the best song/movie in the whole world, and a boat-load of half-invented wizarding traditions. our heroes and heroines will get a much deserved break. 
> 
> stay tuned! and thanks for the read! <33333


	8. Chapter 8

The Charms corridor was freezing. Harriet was terribly glad she had brought her puffiest coat—not only was it keeping her warm, but it had cushioned the three times she had fallen, and the one time she had slammed into the wall.

Ron was rolling over and climbing to his feet slowly. “Hurts more’n it looks, doesn’t it?” Harriet asked, grinning.

“Who made the floor so bloody hard?” he groaned. Neville was helping him up now. Harriet bounced eagerly. “Come on, get out of the way,” she cried. “I know I can make it to the stairs this time!”

The chalk line was nearly worn away from their socks. Sally-Anne, holding the chalk and balancing a notebook on her knees, said, “You’re all mad.”

She had been saying that a lot, Harriet thought. But even Sally-Anne had to admit, it was funny enough watching someone else fall to make up for the times when you crashed down against the stone floor yourself.

“Hey!” Neville cried. “Only seven steps back or it’s cheating.”

Harriet stuck her tongue out at him, went back to the line, and counted dramatically. “—six, seven,” she said. “Ready, Sally-Anne?”

“On my mark,” she cried, and waved the quill. “Three! Two! One—”

Harriet took her running start, and heard under Ron and Neville's cheers the grind of the staircase coming back. Would it be extra points if she fell down a step or two? Could she make it that far? She was halfway down the hall already. But someone was getting off the staircase and coming up the hall, someone with a tall and severe black hat.

No.

Professor McGonagall! She was pulling out her wand hurriedly.

It was too late to stop. Harriet cried out and shut her eyes, and smacked into something thin and jiggly, like a sheet of Jello, then fell to the floor.

When she opened her eyes, Professor McGonagall was standing right at her feet, scowling. “One of the ghosts told me there were hooligans crashing around in the Charms Corridor! Never did I think it would be _you_ four! _What_ is going on here!” she demanded.

Her elbows smarted terribly. Harriet groaned, and rolled over.

“We were just playing!” Ron said. “Tell her, Neville!”

Harriet shot him a glance. Neville was pale and trembling, but still managed to squeak out, “We didn’t hurt anything.”

Professor McGonagall shot them all a steely glare. “And was there no other game available?” she demanded. “Nothing quiet, like cards? Or something _outside_ , where the only damage you can do is to yourself?”

“Percy said if he caught us gambling again he’d take points,” Harriet said, wobbling to her feet. “And Professor Sprout said we weren’t allowed to have another snowball fight until we promised not to build ice forts with tunnels anymore because she doesn’t trust us not to get caved in, and it’s no fun without them. Professor, what spell was that? Hitting it hardly hurt at all.”

Professor McGonagall looked up at the ceiling. “In my day,” she said slowly and quietly, growing louder and faster, “we played hide and seek, or sardines. We even went skating. Nicely. Quietly. With no rough-housing and racing about in our socks—where _are_ your shoes—and we certainly didn’t give professors the vapors over whether or not we’d fall head-first off the fourth floor!”

"Your day sounds like it wasn't very fun," Harriet said, wobbling. By the time she realized it had fallen out of her mouth, it was too late to take it back.

She shared a panicked look with Ron. Neville was already hoping into his shoes, and Sally-Anne had scuffed away the last of the chalk line. “Err, sorry, Professor,” Harriet said. “We’ll just leave, shall we? And go have a nice, quiet game of doing something else.”

“Oh no, Tonks,” Professor McGonagall said. “Your friends may leave, and go sit somewhere _quietly_ , but you are to come with me to see the Headmaster.”

“It wasn’t even my idea!” Harriet cried. “Neville came up with it!”

“I did!” Neville said bravely. “Please, Professor, don’t just punish Harriet. It isn’t fair.”

Professor McGonagall sighed, and relented. “I have no intention of punishing Miss Tonks as long as she behaves herself,” she said. “Her business with the Headmaster is unrelated to these, these shenanigans.”

“Oh,” Neville said.

“Well, Miss Tonks?”

“That was very brave of you,” Sally-Anne told Neville in a loud whisper as Harriet gathered up her shoes.

Ron helped steady Harriet as she climbed into them. “We’ll go play some hide’n’seek,” he told her in a whisper, casting a look at Professor McGonagall. “In the Defense Corridor, there’s loads of old trunks and things up there. Come find us after.”

“Alright,” Harriet said, and shook his hand solemnly. There was a similar good-bye to Neville, who still looked pale but smiled back at her, and she was hugging Sally-Anne tightly when Professor McGonagall said, “You aren’t going off to war, Tonks. Come along.”

Someone, Harriet hoped dearly it was the Headmaster himself, had given the griffin outside his office a Santa hat. It jingled as he sprung to the side. Harriet stepped with Professor McGonagall onto the winding stairs and bounced on her toes a little.

“How come the Headmaster wants to see me?” she asked nervously.

“He rather thought to make it a surprise,” Professor McGonagall said dryly. "It would be a _shame_ to spoil it."

“A bad surprise, like I’m getting kicked out of school?” Harriet demanded. “Or a good surprise?”

“Oh, one I have no doubt will end in several more headaches for me before the day is over,” the professor said. “Now, please be quiet, Tonks. There is a horrible pounding in my skull that sounds rather like a very small girl crashing down four flights of stairs.”

Harriet swallowed. It hadn’t _seemed_ dangerous, going sliding, and it wasn’t like they could go the other way—the twisting stairs up to the West Tower and the Owlery started on the floor with a metal lattice bannister. Hitting that, she was sure, would have been worse.

Anyways, weren’t witches supposed to bounce?

The door swung up with a slash of the professor’s wand. Harriet peered inside anxiously, and took a single nervous step. There was the Headmaster, stroking the head of an enormous red bird, and a very strange looking man shouting at someone, someone who had the strangest wild mass of green hair Harriet had ever seen—

“Dora!” she screamed, and threw herself across the room.

She was fast, but Dora was _always_ faster. She grabbed Harriet up, and Harriet buried her face in Dora's shoulder, that warm and familiar place that smelled like bubblegum, served as nightmare-bane, and was _home_ , it was like being home again.

Her glasses pressed uncomfortably into her cheeks. She pulled away long enough to tug them off, and burrowed herself in again. Dora was laughing a little, and humming that slow, warm hum that made Harriet feel like a melting piece of taffy.

“God, you’ve gotten bigger,” she said right into the top of Harriet's head. “What have they been feeding you that Dad never managed? Threstral meat? Niffler tails? You’re heavy, too. Maybe it was books. You always used to love chewing on those.”

“Stoppit!” Harriet said, laughing. She pulled back and wiped her nose. Dora's face was familiar in water-color, the best painting in the whole world.

“What are you doing here?” Harriet demanded. “You didn’t write—did the Ministry get to you, too?”

“Slapped me with a gag order,” Dora said. “Didn’t even get a chance to warn you. They came before breakfast. I hadn’t even really woken up. But then they were assigning a case here and I told Mad-Eye I’d make his life a living nightmare if he didn’t take it.”

There was a shuffle-clunk kind of noise. “Knew she’d do it, too,” someone very grouchy-sounding said. “Done nothing but made my life hell since she got there.”

“You’ve loved every minute of it,” Dora said. “Here, Harry, put your glasses back on, would you? And come meet Mad-Eye, my mentor.”

Harriet fumbled them into place, and startled when she saw the man lurking over Dora's shoulder. She hadn’t noticed the eye before—it swung wildly in place, scrutinizing her, then Dora, then the rest of the room.

“Can see through anything,” the man said proudly, meeting Harriet's look with his other eye, a brown and very normal one. “Walls, invisibility charms and cloaks, envelopes. You name it.”

“Can you see people’s organs?” Harriet asked. “Through their skin?”

“Tonks!” Professor McGonagall barked, but Mad-Eye only grinned at her.

It might have been a creepy grin—there were more than a few teeth missing and had been replaced with something metallic—and his face didn’t look like it was used for smiling much. But it reminded Harriet a little of Kingsley, who always looked at her with fondness and amusement. It was a very uncle-ish smile.

“You’re the first to ask that, girl,” Mad-Eye said. “Yep, yes it can.” The magical eye scrolled up and down Harriet's body. “Skipped lunch, did you?”

Harriet laughed. “That’s so gross,” she said. “Dora, how come healers don’t get one of those?”

“They’re specially made,” Mad-Eye said before Dora could answer. “Cost me a leg.” He thumped the wooden peg on the floor; that had been the noise Harriet heard earlier.

Harriet grinned. “That’s awful,” she said. She was still pressed against Dora, who was shaking with laughter, making little choking sounds like she was trying not to show it. “Can I see it? Can I _use_ it?”

Professor McGonagall was pinch-faced. “If I may leave now,” she said to the Headmaster. He smiled gently. The bird—what kind of bird _was_ that—warbled and flew away to a little perch Harriet hadn’t noticed before.

“Of course,” Professor Dumbledore said. “Should I require anything else, I will call for you directly.”

“Behave yourself, Tonks,” Professor McGonagall said, and paused. “Both of you Tonkses.” Then she left the room in a furious hurry, and Harriet hoped her friends had hidden really, really well. Hide and seek against an angry Professor McGonagall didn’t seem like it was going to be very fun.

Mad-Eye was considering her. “I like this one, Tonks,” he said. “She’s got spunk. Ever wanted to be an Auror, girl?”

“Hey!” Dora cried, and put her arm heavier around Harriet. “No recruiting my sister. Only I get to do that!”

“Ah,” the Headmaster said gently. “She has you there, Alastor. Some things must remain a family tradition.”

“We’ll see,” Mad-Eye said. He took a seat in one of the chairs, looking at the Headmaster now, but that blue eye stayed on Harriet. “Well, Dumbledore? You were saying about the stands?”

Dora leaned down, until her mouth was right at Harriet's ear. “Mad-Eye said I get to interview people on my own, now,” she whispered. “Or you, at least. Here, let’s leave.”

Harriet vibrated silently through the slow spiraling of the stairs, and burst out as soon as they passed the griffin, “I’ve missed you so much!”

Dora put her arms around her again, pulling her close. “I’ve missed you, too,” she said. “It’s worse now _you’re_ here and I’m stuck out in the world. I don’t know how you could stand it when I went away.”

“It was awful,” Harriet said at once. “Oh, Dora, are you really going to be the ones investigating? Does that mean you’ll keep coming back?”

“Mad-Eye said we would,” Dora said, and pulled away. She was looking Harriet over now, all across her face, like she was scared something would be different. “He said it was my Christmas present, and I had to stop complaining all the time now. I know it’s a big sacrifice, but for you, it’s worth it.”

Harriet giggled. “Ta,” she said like Dad did when he was annoyed. “Oh, Dora, I want you to meet all my friends. You’ll love them. Oh, and I can do so many spells now! Look!”

She pulled her wand out, and very carefully made a pear ornament. Dora caught it before it could fall to the floor from the tip of Harriet's wand.

“Look at this!” she cried. “Oh, Harry, that’s gotta be a third-year spell at least. How the hell did you learn that?”

It was the most delicious feeling in the world. “A friend taught me,” Harriet said. “No, you keep it, Dora. Put it on your tree.”

“I’ll stick it on the one in the Trainee Hall,” Dora said, and shrunk it down to put in her pocket. “Make everyone look at it.” She crushed Harriet against her side and ruffled her hair. “You’re really growing up,” she said with delight. “We’ll be able to duel soon enough. I can teach you how to fight for real, now.”

Harriet thought her heart was going to come out of her chest. “Will you? Defense is pants. We’ve got this professor—Quirrell—he’s afraid of everything and his classroom always stinks and gives me the most awful headaches.”

“I’ll teach you anything you want,” Dora said, grinning brightly. “And I want to hear all about how your year’s been so far, but first I have to ask you a bunch of questions. Really, Harry, don’t make that face. I nearly had a heart-attack when they told me about you falling. If that kid hadn’t caught you, well, let’s not think about that, alright?”

“Come on,” Dora went on, and steered Harriet out onto the stairs. “I’d show you where the kitchens are and feed you up a bit, but the elves can get a bit barmy around the holidays.” She cast a look at Harriet, and turned it into a face when Harriet noticed. “Anywhere _you_ want to show _me_?”

“Well,” Harriet said and scuffed her feet. “There’s this one place we all go to hang out, but you might not like it.”

“If it’s even a little private,” Dora said, “then I guarantee I’ve snogged a boy there before. And if it’s _really_ private—”

“That’s disgusting,” Harriet said and ducked out from under Dora's arm. “God, you’re so gross!”

“Go on then,” Dora said and gave her a prod. “Lead the way.”

Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom was dank and dark as always. Harriet held the door for Dora, and went right to the window, which she creaked open despite the snow falling softly just outside.

“Cheerful,” Dora said dryly as the howling from one of the toilets started up. “This is a new one for me, sweet. We always avoided this place.”

“It’s not so bad,” Harriet said, and dropped down to the floor. “I liked our old loo better, but after the troll came and we watched him smash it all up, we didn’t like to go in there much.”

Dora stopped poking around the sinks and turned around. “Very funny,” she said, making a face. “I _do_ read the papers, you know. Whoever those kids were that fought off the troll must have been seventh years. Linda Proudfoot, I train with her, couldn’t even manage to knock one out when they tried us against the Department security trolls.”

Harriet paused to consider how angry Dora would be, versus how much Harriet wanted to tell her about dancing on porcelain and meeting Millicent and Sally-Anne. “You got me,” she said and smiled. “I was just wondering if maybe you were getting rusty.”

“With Mad-Eye around, there’s no chance of that,” Dora said, and sank down to sit with her. “That man tells the most outrageous lies. Worse than Granny Tonks, he is.” Dora shifted around a little, gave up on trying to get comfortable, and pulled out a little notebook and a pencil. She said, “Go on, then. You start with what you remember about the game, and I’ll ask some questions afterwards. Remember when Dad used to make us tell about our day? Just like that.”

It was easier telling Dora than it had been telling anyone else. She didn’t gasp or jerk about or anything, just watched Harriet, and took a few notes, and nodded once or twice. When Harriet was done with everything, even the Hospital Wing part—she left out the eavesdropping—Dora let out her breath in a big puff and said, “You don’t do things by halves, even nearly dying. Come here, then.”

Just because it had been _easier_ with Dora didn’t make it easy. Harriet climbed right onto her lap—Dora never made her feel babyish about it—and put her face to her shoulder again.

“It was really scary,” she said. “Flying’s brilliant, and I love Quidditch, but I never want to fall off my broom again.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Dora said, and rubbed Harriet's back a little. “Answer a few questions for me,” she said, “and we can talk about something else. Like what you got me for Christmas.”

“It’s two days!” Harriet cried. “You can wait!”

“Well, fine then,” Dora said, and blew a raspberry. She slid Harriet to the side, so she was sitting back on the floor and opened her little notebook. “Riddle me these questions three and I shall reveal what I got for thee!” she cackled.

“Professor Sprout told the prefects they weren’t allowed to rhyme their answers to first-years anymore,” Harriet said. “Now I think I know why they started doing that in the first place.”

“Brat,” Dora said fondly. “Ready, now?”

“Go ahead.”

“Before the match did you notice anyone suspicious? Someone you hadn’t seen before? Someone that would stick out?”

“No,” Harriet said. It wasn’t really lying. They hadn’t actually _seen_ who was after the stone yet. “I only talked to the Quidditch team, really. And my friends.”

“I think we can discount eleven-year-olds,” Dora said. She made a little note. “Look, Harry, you don’t have to play pretend with me. I know just how curious you are. Have you and your friends been poking around at all because of this?”

She looked so grown up and serious. Harriet bit her lip. She didn’t want Dora to get mad at her, or at Professor Dumbledore like Hermione had, and—well, she really didn’t want Dora to run into whoever kept trying to get into the school. “We’ve been talking to each other,” she said. “And, and Millicent thought she saw something during the match. But she was wrong.”

“Well, what did she think she saw?”

“Don’t let her get in trouble if I tell you,” Harriet begged. “Please, Dora? She thought she was helping.”

“Just tell me, sweet, alright?”

“She thought she saw Snape jinxing me,” Harriet said. “And she’s the one who lit the professors’ stand on fire—she was trying to get his robes. But she got him at wand point later and he didn’t get angry or anything, just said a bunch of stuff to prove he didn’t do it. He’s a git and awful, but he was trying a counter-jinx.”

Dora tapped her pencil against the side of the notebook. “I won’t tell anyone about your friend,” she said. “Nobody got hurt, after all. But…” Slowly, she wrote in the notebook. “You stay away from him for now, and let me look into this. Alright, next question.”

She looked up at Harriet and let her eyes drift in different directions. “Got any enemies?” she asked. “Anyone who might want to harm you?”

Harriet snorted. “I can think of one,” she said. “You might have heard of him. Or, would that lady from the Ministry count?”

Dora blinked her eyes back fast. “What lady?” she asked. Her face was changing a little, but in a regular way. Her eyes looked sharper. Like a hawk’s, or a cat’s.

“The pink lady, I don’t remember her name. Umbrella?”

“Umbridge,” Dora said.

“Yeah. She came with Mister Taylor when he said I couldn’t write you or Mum and Dad. She kept staring at me, and she tried to sit next to me, and she giggled all the time. It was really creepy.”

Dora wrote something else down. “Has she been back since?”

“No, just Mister Taylor, and Professor McGonagall stayed with me the whole time, then. And anyways, _he_ doesn’t seem evil or anything. Just, tired I think. And busy. And he doesn’t like the Ministry much.”

“You send me an owl straight away if she comes to see you again,” Dora said. “Don’t go anywhere with her, and keep a teacher with you, too. I doubt she’s related to any of this, but we all know her at the Ministry, and I don’t like the kind of talk that’s been around her.”

“Alright,” Harriet said, and picked at the seam of her jeans. “Is that all? It’s been loads more than three questions.”

“You’ve been doing really well,” Dora said, smiling. “Just one last one, alright? And then we can go do something fun together.”

She looked at Harriet, looked really hard, like when they’d been on the staircase. “Is there anything you want to tell me that I haven’t asked you about?”

Lily was always being brave in her journal. She never snitched, and solved a lot of her own problems. And, and Harriet wanted to do this, just her and her friends. And she was _sure_ that Professor Dumbledore would tell Mad-Eye all about the stone, and who they were hiding it from. “No-o,” she said, whining a little. “That’s all of it. Can we go play now? Everyone else is doing hide and seek.”

Dora laughed. “Your favorite game, you little monster,” she said, and shut her notebook. “Going to try and lose on purpose again?”

“It’s not losing if I scare whoever finds me,” Harriet said. “Come on, please? You can make the most awful faces, Ron's going to scream.”

“Just Ron? The rest of your friends are stone cold, then?”

“Sally-Anne’s hardly scared of anything that doesn’t mean she has to talk to lots of strangers. And Neville's braver than I thought. But it’ll be fun anyway.”

“Fine,” Dora said. She scuffed up Harriet's hair. “But if Mum asks, we did an early review for your exams or something.”

* * *

The fire crackled. Ron, stretched out on the hearthstones, groaned exaggeratedly. “It’s not fair,” he said, feeding a little stick into the fire. “Keeping all our presents so we can’t even peek. When there’s a tree right here to put them under and everything.”

“We never put ours out ‘til the morning at home, but I always go looking,” Neville said. He was lying under the tree staring up through the branches. “Gran doesn’t even punishes me if she catches me trying to look for mine. She says an industrious spirit ought not to be discouraged. But then she always hides them better the next year.”

“All of you are grinches,” Sally-Anne said from where she was lolling across one of the sofas. “I never try and peek, or find my presents early. It’s such a nice surprise to open them when I’m supposed to.” She started humming something familiar.

“That’s because you’re a goody-two-shoes,” Ron said. He caught the thrown pillow with ease. “It’s alright, Hufflepuffs always are. But half the fun of presents it trying to figure out what they are before you open them. Right, Harriet?”

Harriet was sitting in the windowsill, wrapped in a blanket to ward off the cold. “Oh, I don’t really care,” she said, turning to survey the room. “I got my two best presents already. But it would be nice to get Dad’s card. Mum won’t let him write at all in case she gets caught, so he won’t be in-pli-cated.”

“You never,” Ron said, sitting up. “How’d you get your presents early?”

“Hagrid gave ‘em to me,” she said idly. “Pictures of my parents—my first mum and dad. And something I’m sharing with someone else.”

Neville rolled his head over to stare at her. “You know Hagrid?” he asked. Sally-Anne was still singing, a familiar song. It got stuck in Harriet's head and rolled around like marbles in a box.

“Mmm. Look, Sally-Anne, what is that? I’ve heard it before.”

“Your brain is full of spiders,” Sally-Anne sang sweetly. “You have garlic in your soul.” 

Harriet started laughing.

“Ugh. That’s foul,” Ron said. “Thought you two were friends.”

“It’s a Muggle Christmas song,” Harriet said. “From a movie. I wish televisions worked here—I’ve got the tape at home. We _always_ watch it on Christmas Eve.”

“What’s it about?” Neville asked.

“Yeah, go on,” Ron said. “Can’t be more boring than just sitting here.”

“Oh!” Sally-Anne cried. “Harriet, Mummy sent me the book! Wait here, I’ll go get it!”

She went racing up the girls’ stairs. “You’ll like this,” Harriet said. “I’ll read it to you, and I’ll even do the voices.”

Sally-Anne came back with a picture book with an orange, green, and white cover.

“That’s a weird looking thing,” Ron said, starting at the creature on the front cover. He scooted closer. “Never seen one of those before.”

The portrait hole swung open. Percy, Fred, and George came in, dusted with snow. They’d been helping Hagrid in the stables, bedding down the animals. He hadn’t invited the rest of them, saying it was a job for the big boys, and had only ruffled Harriet's hair when she complained.

“What’s this, then?” Fred asked, yanking off his boots and tumbling them to the floor.

“Harriet's going to read us a Muggle Christmas story,” Neville said.

Percy looked pleased. “We talked about those in Muggle Studies,” he said. “Professor Burbage read us a few. As an immersion activity. Is it ‘The Night Before Christmas’? I rather enjoyed that one.”

“No,” Harriet said. “This one’s much better. You lot all sit down, and I’ll read it.”

Fred and George exchanged a glance. “There’s nothing else to do,” George said. “C’mon, Fred, might as well. Maybe we’ll get some good ideas from it.”

“Ideas for what?” Percy demanded.

“None of your own business!” Fred cried. “Go on, Harriet, we’ll stay.”

Harriet cracked open the book. It was brand new—the pages still a little shiny, and it smelled like ink a little. “Every Who down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot,” she started. “But the _Grinch_ who lived just north of Who-Ville…DID NOT!”

“I rather like the chap already,” Fred said. “Overrated holiday, right, George?”

“Hmm. Sounds a bit like Aunt Muriel to me, Fred.”

“Shh!” Sally-Anne cried.

“ _If_ you’re done,” Harriet said icily.

“Go ahead, Harriet,” Percy said.

“The Grinch _hated_ Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why…”

No wonder her dad loved doing this so much, Harriet thought. Everyone gasped and exclaimed at the right moments. They cringed when Cindy-Lou Who woke up. They grumbled when the Grinch took everyone's things. They trembled when the Grinch made to throw all the presents away. And they all applauded when she said with relish, “The Grinch carved the roast beast!”

“Wow!” Ron said as Harriet put the book aside. “I thought Muggle stories were boring.”

“But where’s the song?” Neville asked, pushing himself up. “Sally-Anne was singing something, before you came in,” he told the older boys.

“They made a movie from the book,” Harriet said. At a handful of puzzled glances, “It’s like theater, but it plays on a little screen, all recorded before-hand. We used to watch it over and over. The Grinch, he always was so horrible looking. He could turn his head around all the way, like an owl, and he slid around on the floor like a snake, and he made this awful face—”

“Oh, when he smiled!” Sally-Anne cried. “It used to scare me, I always made Mummy fast-forward through that part.”

[“Dora used to make that face to scare me,” Harriet said. “His mouth got all curled up to the top of his head, and his eyebrows came down, and his hair went all funny. It was amazing.”](https://gyazo.com/207b66ce49a2c42f73bf9b68675ed45f)

“Sounds bit like Professor Snape smiling,” Percy said slowly.

Everyone turned to look at him. Harriet had never, ever heard him say something bad about a professor before.

“What?” Percy cried, going red all over. “I saw it once, on accident, when I was a first-year. I had nightmares for ages.”

“Sing them the song, Sally-Anne,” Ron said. “It sounds like it fits Snape like a glove.”

She turned crimson. “Oh, I couldn’t,” she said.

Harriet took a peek at Fred and George, and saw their eyes shining. She didn’t think Snape had been the one to curse her, but she would never, ever forgive him for being so awful about her parents.

“Go on,” Harriet told Sally-Anne. She went over and sat at the edge of her sofa. “Here, I’ll sing it with you.”

“Oh, alright,” she said, grinning. “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch. You really are a heel—”

They all laughed afterwards. “Say, write down those words for us, would you?” George asked Sally-Anne. “No, don’t ask. You’ll see why later.”

“But _not_ right now,” Percy said. “It’s nearly ten o’clock. All of us should be going to bed.”

“Just ten more minutes,” Neville begged. “Come on, it’s Christmas Eve!”

“All the more reason for you to be in _bed_ ,” Percy said. “Get up, Ron. You too, Neville. Girls, I can’t really make you, but I highly recommend you go to sleep now. Christmas is always a busy day.”

Harriet hid a yawn behind her hand. “We’ll go,” she said. Sally-Anne was picking her book back up lazily, red and orange in the dying firelight. “It’s probably warmer in the dorm anyway.” They wished everyone goodnight, and went up the stairs, to the very top.

From the little window, the grounds were a blanketed white hush. The moon was just coming out from behind the clouds, making everything shining, spun silver. It was beautiful, so pretty it made Harriet's chest hurt.

Sally-Anne was crawling into bed, her soft brown bunny in hand. “Tomorrow there’s going to be a feast,” she said around an enormous yawn. “And games, and crackers, and Professor Sprout will _have_ to let us play in the snow, it’s Christmas. Oh, I can hardly wait.”

“Yeah,” Harriet said quietly.

“Harriet? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, “Really,” and turned away from the window. Her nightgown had been laid out near the fire. It was toasty warm when she pulled it on. When she came back from the bathroom, Sally-Anne was fast asleep.

Her bed looked warm, and very cozy. Harriet hesitated as she went to climb into it, and went to her desk instead. The scrapbook was still where she had left it.

The light of the moon was enough to see by. Huddled in the windowsill, she turned the pages until she found the picture she wanted.

The tree was lit warmly with tiny, multicolored lights. Harriet as a baby was sitting in front of it, on her dad’s lap. Her mum was crouched next to them, laughing, just half of her face visible in the shot. Her dad was looking down, holding Harriet's hands and making her wave, smiling. The photo shook a little, like the picture-taker had been laughing, too.

She ached to know the joke. Maybe they had written it on the back?

Carefully, she slid the picture out of the picture corners. It was printed on really thick paper, she thought. There was writing on the back, in a sprawling, elegant hand. _Padfoot and Petal, Christmas 1980_.

She checked the front. Padfoot? Petal? Thoughtfully, she took a corner of the picture and rubbed it between her fingers. The corner turned into two corners, slid, stuck slightly, and came apart when she gave it a light tug.

This was a new picture, with a sticky spot near the bottom. She turned it toward the light and looked carefully.

It was her again, and the tree in the background, but now she was wobbling on tiptoes, someone holding her hands gently to keep her up. There were legs behind her, torn black jeans. And the hands holding hers had tattoos on them. Little dark blue runes.

Padfoot was probably another uncle, then. And Petal must have been her. It was a nice name. Maybe she would write her mum and ask why they’d called her that. Harriet rubbed away the sticky bit with her thumb, and set the picture aside.

The back of her mum and dad’s pictures just said _James Lily and Petal, Christmas 1980_. It wasn’t fair, Harriet thought, not writing down more of what was happening. She scrutinized her dad, and then her mum. They looked so happy, so pleased. So much younger than her ‘Dromeda-mum and Ted-dad. “Merry Christmas, Mum and Dad,” she told them. “I love you.”

* * *

Sally-Anne was taking _forever_ in the bathroom, Harriet thought. How long did it take to pee and brush your teeth? The stack of presents at the foot of her bed were taunting her. She picked one at random, peeled back a corner of the wrapping paper with her nail, and jumped when something flopped onto the bed next to her.

“Christmas isn’t for cheating!” Sally-Anne shouted. “You promised to wait until I did mine, too!”

“I didn’t see anything,” Harriet groaned. “Look, are you finally ready?”

“Yes,” Sally-Anne said, and dove off of Harriet's bed and onto her own. “Go on. Oh, do mine first and I’ll do yours!”

Harriet had to dig for it. Finally, at the bottom of her stack, she found a flat-wrapped package from with Sally-Anne’s name on the tag. She tore it open, eager, and flipped through the neatly bound notebook.

The first page had a header at the top that said _General_ and a list: _The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. I do wish thou art a dog, that I might love thee something. I desire that we be better strangers._

She turned the next page, and read at the top: _Nose_. Underneath it was a list of phrases. _When it bleeds, the Red Sea. You love the little birds so much you gave them a perch to roost upon._

The next page had _Smell_ at the top. After that, _Teeth._

“Is this a book to insult Snape?” she gasped.

Sally-Anne was turning over the soft little blanket Harriet had hemmed and Charmed. “Uh-huh. I even left room for us to fill it in more,” she said. “Mummy gave me all the best ones, though. They’re mostly from plays and things. Did you Charm this?”

“It’s got a Warming Charm,” Harriet said, grinning. “I got help on that one. But I did the Charm to grow fur on one side myself.”

“I love it,” Sally-Anne said, and threw it around her shoulders. It was brilliantly electric blue and clashed horribly with her pajamas.

“Not as much as I love this,” Harriet told her and set the book carefully to the side.

She moved onto something that said, _From Mum and Dad_. Books, a huge stack of them, mostly Nancy Drews. There was also a card from her Dad, which she devoured at once.

 _Pet,_ he wrote, _you continue to astound and amaze me. The first Gryffindor in our family, the youngest Seeker in current memory, and doing well in most of your classes to boot! I’ve never regretted your mum not mistaking you for your cousin, but I especially don’t regret it now!_

_I’m sure on Christmas you’ve got better things to do than read a letter from an old man as ancient as I am, so I’ll keep it brief. Only six months until you come home! A mere blink of the eye. In case your mum doesn’t let us speak until then, let me say that I fully plan on crying at the platform and embarrassing you in front of all your friends. We’ll leave stoicism to the others._

_Keep staying out of trouble, I’m very proud, and I love you dearly,_

_Daddy_

_P.S. I’ve gotten your sister’s report. You leave that Umbrella woman to me. Doesn’t she know pink is tacky when it’s not my wonderful daughters wearing it? A truly heinous crime._

_P.P.s. Chin up and eyes down!_

He’d scrawled a messy heart at the bottom. Harriet wished it was twice as long. Harriet thought it was perfect as it was. She was grinning massively as she tore through the rest of the stack.

There was a massively lumpy sweater from Millicent, a pile of Muggle sweets from Hermione—hardly squashed at all—a set of Quoits hoops from Ron that floated in the air far longer than they ought to. _Don’t tell the twins, bet you can get something good off them before they figure it out_ , the note said. She laughed at this. She’d made him something close.

There was nothing from Neville. She thought about the card she’d sent him and tried not to feel embarrassed.

Dora's present was in two pieces. There were new books, a completely new series. _Nero Wolfe_. Harriet stacked them with the rest of her books. And then the second package, which hummed faintly when she grabbed it. She held her breath as she opened it, and a brilliant golden Snitch fell onto her lap. Dora's note fluttered after it. _Don’t lose this. It’s the real deal._

Careful not to touch it with her bare hands, Harriet took a break to squirrel it away in one of her desk drawers.

And then there were the last two presents. Neither of them had labels saying who they were from. One was wrapped in silver paper, and the other in Muggle wrapping paper. Harriet opened the Muggle one first, and cried out as she recognized it.

“What is it?” Sally-Anne demanded. Her own pile of torn paper tumbled off her bed as she sprang up.

The worn composition book trembled in Harriet's hands. “I’ll tell you later,” she said, and made herself set it aside. “After dinner, alright? It’s, it’s private.”

“That’s fine then,” Sally-Anne said and sank back down. “But whatever’s in that one, don’t scream like that again, alright? My heart’s going.”

Harriet picked up the last package carefully. It was a little squishy, like it was clothes. The wrapping paper tore away from a pile of gleaming cloth, almost as silvery as the wrapping paper had been. It had a note set neatly on top.

 _Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well._  
_A very merry Christmas to you_

Something from her dad, too? And from another mysterious person! Harriet was smiling so hard it hurt. It was like, well, Christmas! She set the note aside and shook out the pile of cloth.

Her mouth dropped open at once. It looked like a pool of mercury. It felt like water woven into silk, flowing cool and sweet over her fingers and falling in a soft waterfall across her legs. Her legs, which had disappeared.

Sally-Anne gave a shriek. Harriet heard it like it was down a tunnel. She gathered the cloak up into her arms and drifted into the loo with it.

The row of mirrors showed her, just Harriet. Messy bedhead and a white nightgown. Scarred, wearing glasses, looking like she had seen a ghost. The shortest in her year. Slowly, in a dream, she flung the cloak out and swirled it around herself. The girl that was watching with enormous eyes disappeared.

The air under the cloak smelled like water, and the dappled world beyond swayed as she spun, eyes on the mirror. She was gone. Gone, lost inside that brilliant gleam of shadow and nothingness. The invisibility cloak, her _Dad’s_ invisibility cloak.

Sally-Anne couldn’t see. She didn’t have to feel stupid, or, or bad. She pulled the cloak’s lining to her nose and smelled deeply. There, maybe her wishful thinking, maybe someone had packed it away very carefully. She thought, it’s been ten years. Just the ghost of warm cologne.

Her dad had worn this. Had smelled like that.

Sally-Anne hovered in the doorway. “Harriet?” she called out, voice frightened. “Are you in here?” She looked really pale, Harriet thought, and she jerked the cloak off at once.

“I’m here!” she said. “Don’t look so scared.”

“You disappeared!”

“’Course I did. Here, look what I’ve gotten. No, come here.”

In the mirror, they met each other’s eyes, and Harriet floated the cloak over the both of them. It puddled around the floor, the hem loose and bulging in places, and Sally-Anne gasped as they disappeared.

“It’s my dad’s invisibility cloak,” Harriet said. “I didn’t even know he had one—someone just sent it to me.”

She tugged it back off and wadded it up in her arms. “Look,” she said, heart racing. “Don’t, don’t tell anyone about it, okay? This might be just what we need to catch whoever’s after the stone, and I’d _die_ if a teacher took it away.”

“I won’t,” Sally-Anne said. “I’d never. I promise.”

Harriet stowed it away carefully in her trunk, and tucked her mum’s journals in with it. “This has been the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” she told Sally-Anne as they gathered up massive armfuls of wrapping paper.

“I still miss my mummy,” Sally-Anne said. “Practically a whole year is an awfully long time to go without seeing her. But I’m glad I stayed.”

They shared a smile. Somewhere down in the Common Room, several boys were yelling excitedly at once. “We should go see what they’re going on about,” Harriet said. She skinned on the lumpy Millicent-sweater, Sally-Anne wrapped her blanket firmly around her shoulders, and they wandered downstairs.

Fred and George were dancing around Percy, zapping him with little jinxes and struggling to get him in something, while Ron and Neville chanted, “Jumper! Jumper!” and hopped around like jumping beans.

“Harriet!” Ron cried when he saw them. He crashed into Neville as he turned the wrong way, and bounded over to them. “Look, Harriet's got a jumper! And Sally-Anne’s got— _something_!”

“You heard him, Percy!” George cried. “Get in there before we’ve got to do something worse!”

“ _What_ is happening?” Harriet asked Neville, laughing. Ron had resumed his jumping, and Sally-Anne had joined him without hesitation, gracefully bounding around the trio.

“Percy won’t put on his Weasley jumper,” Neville said. “Look, we’ve all got one.” He tugged shyly at a blue sweater with a brilliant red N on the front. “And he won’t wear his. Fred and George are saying he’s a disgrace to the family honor. And also that they do this every year.”

“At last,” Percy cried, seeing them. “Someone reasonable. Harriet, go get Professor Mcarughhh!”

“None of that, then,” Fred shouted. “She won’t save you. In the jumper, Percy!”

“Come _on_ ,” Sally-Anne cried as they circled past again. “It’s part of the tradition! Like a good luck spell!” She grabbed Harriet's hand and tugged her along. Harriet tossed Neville a look—but it seemed the thing to do. She bound along, and after a moment, he instilled himself between Ron and Sally-Anne.

They were out of breath and cheering when Percy’s head was finally stuffed through the neck hole of the jumper. George was tying the arms behind Percy’s back with a satisfying expression. “Take you a while to get out of _that_ ,” he said.

Fred said to the rest of them, “We had better run before he gets out. He likes to curse us afterwards, you know.”

Behind him, Percy had skinned a shoulder out, and was groping for his wand.

“Run!” Neville cried, and they scrambled for the portrait hole, laughing and screaming in mock fright. There was nothing, Harriet thought, which was better than rough-housing and dueling around on Christmas morning.

* * *

The day only got better from there. Once Percy had cursed them all into different ears—Harriet had stroked her soft donkey ears wonderingly—they all got dressed, ate a hurried breakfast, and tumbled outside to play in the snow.

The twins were amazing at building ice block forts, and when the remaining Ravenclaws—all Triple R seventh years—were ushered down by Professor Flitwick, two spiraling palaces on opposite parts of the wide lawn rose up, with a complicated warren of tunnels between them. The two remaining Slytherins—Gemma Farley and Clarissa Vaisey—poked their heads out mid-morning, and after seeing those demanded everyone play Capture-The-Queen.

Teams were decided quickly. Harriet watched in amusement as they traded George for a Ravenclaw and declared the Weasley House would play the Snow Court and the Slytherclaws would play the Sun Court. “And no swords!” Gemma Farley said. “It’s dangerous for first-years to have them.”

“Just wooden ones, then!” Percy argued fiercely.

Clarissa tugged at Gemma’s sleeve. “Come on, Gemma!” she begged. “It’s not the same without them.”

“Oh, fine. But don’t come to me when your fingers get all smashed up!”

They broke up and huddled together. Fred was Charming the swords up and listening with half an ear. “We need a queen,” Percy said very seriously. “And it can’t be Decidua, I need her with me on offense. Who’s good at sneaking?”

“Oh, make Harriet queen!” Sally-Anne said. “I’m too scared. What if they catch me?”

“Fight back!” Harriet said. “Or run away!”

“Right, that’s answered,” Decidua Moon said. She rapped Harriet's head with her wand, and Harriet, blinking rapidly, watched the few visible wisps of her hair turn red. Decidua did Sally-Anne’s hair, too, then Neville's. “Oi, change that boy’s hair up, and yours, too, Robert!” she called to the Sun Court’s huddle. A tall, auburn boy gave her a thumbs up back.

There were a few more huddled minutes of discussing strategy and a struggle as Fred gave Percy and Decidua animal ears too, then they all met back up and Harriet watched with delight as a slim silver circlet was spun out of air, and a thick golden crown crashed into existence. The queens lined up.

The other team had charmed their hair black. Gemma curtsied to Harriet, her court following suit. Harriet curtsied back, someone sent off an enormous flare with their wand, and they retreated to their own ice palace.

They played a fierce and furious game, and the light was getting long and dim as Harriet thrashed madly against a Ravenclaw’s hold and whacked him with the flat of her sword as he dragged her away from Snow territory. His own dug meanly into her neck. He had introduced himself as Joseph Posey when he’d kidnapped her.

“Unhand her, you bastard, or I’ll see you hanged for betrayal and treason!” Fred cried, holding his wand on them.

“I don’t even want her anymore!” Joseph called. “She’s stepped on my feet about a hundred times now! But if you don’t think the Sun Queen will have her head, you’re mad!”

Something flashed from behind a low hill of snow. Harriet focused her eyes on the glimmering light, and when it flashed again, threw her whole body to the side, forcing them into a roll. “Shit!” Joseph cried. “Clarissa, they’re going to get me!”

Harriet took Fred’s hand up, and they were racing past the front walk to one of the tunnels when the castle doors flung open. Professor Sprout, with an enormous steaming cauldron and a tail of mugs bobbing along behind her, came hurrying down.

“Oi! No interference!” someone in the Sun Court called from their barricade as she stepped across the marked line.

“Sorry, Miss Warrick!” Professor Sprout called. “All of you come here a moment, please!”

Ron and Neville undug themselves from the snow, and Sally-Anne, Percy, and Decidua climbed down from the ice palace, where they’d waiting to bombard Joseph with snowballs. They drifted over with Fred and Harriet as the other team came down.

“We didn’t know you were all playing outside together, and so nicely, too!” Professor Sprout said, beaming at them all. “Here, everyone take a cup of cocoa, nice and hot!”

“We weren’t breaking any rules!” Clarissa said. “Tabitha checked.”

“I never said you were,” Professor Sprout told her, smiling still. “And even if you had, I’d hardly be upset. No, it does me good to see all of you out in the fresh air like this. But it’s coming on four o’clock, the sun is nearly down, and I dare say that all of you need good, hot baths before we have our Christmas dinner.”

“But we haven’t won yet!” Gemma said. “Please, Professor Sprout. Just another half an hour?”

“I’m sure your castles will be here tomorrow,” Professor Sprout said. “But the Christmas feast will not. Now all of you—inside and straight to a bath.”

Harriet groaningly surrendered her sword and the crown, which had begun to melt in silver rivulets down her hair. Decidua vanished them with a crack. “But I think I’ll leave the hair,” she told Harriet and Sally-Anne. “It’s festive.”

She trotted off with the rest of the Ravenclaws. Neville was coming over, juggling several mugs of cocoa. He handed one to Sally-Anne and said quietly to Harriet as she took hers, “Did you have a good game?”

He looked very shy, like he had been at the start of term. “It was brilliant,” Harriet said. “Especially the part where you tackled that Slytherin girl. They nearly got me, I was laughing so hard.”

Neville puffed up and stuck his chest out. “Couldn’t let you get captured,” he said. They were trudging back up the castle now. Sally-Anne was walking ahead, and she only looked back once or twice. “After all,” Neville said, “w-wouldn’t be a good brother if I did.”

Harriet grinned fit to burst. She knocked her shoulder against his. “Couldn’t really be a _bad_ brother if you tried,” she said. “Merry Christmas, Neville.”

“Merry Christmas, Harriet.”

Up in the Tower, Harriet and Sally-Anne cleaned themselves up and flung their clothes about the room, trying to find something festive enough to wear for the feast.

“I’ve got plenty of green, but it’ll clash with my hair,” Harriet cried. “Why did you bring that silver dress? You’ll freeze!”

“I don’t remember packing _any_ of this!” Sally-Anne cried.

Harriet, scrounging around the bottom of her trunk, felt something neatly wrapped with brown paper. “Yes!” she shouted. “I don’t know how she manages it half the time, but my mum’s done it again!”

She yanked the package out, and tore the paper open. It was her good dress, pressed and folded neatly. She shook it out, inspected the silver stars sewn neatly onto the blue velvet, and nodded. “I’m settled then. It’s proper wizardy, and festive enough to pass.”

“All my mummy made me pack was my warm clothes,” Sally-Anne said.

“Well, the silver dress won’t be too bad if you put tights under it. I’ve got some around here that are a little long on me.”

Harriet dug up a pair that had green ink vines writhing around the legs. “Put those on,” she said, tossing them over. “Green and silver, real festive, and it’s far enough away from your hair no one will notice. And look, we’ll even match a little.”

“Oh,” Sally-Anne said. “Harriet, we’d match even more if you got someone to take the Charm off your eyes. Just for tonight, please? And I’ll put a blue ribbon in my hair. We’ll look like sisters.”

Harriet considered herself in the mirror. It _would_ look more festive, she supposed. “Just this once,” she said. “But I’m making someone put it back on right after. It looks weird on me.”

“I’ll do it myself if Percy think I can manage it,” Sally-Anne said. “You’re dressed, right? Go down to the Common Room, I bet he’s there, and do it now. Then come back up and I’ll help with your hair. Hannah and Susan have taught me so many spells for that.”

Percy was down there, reading patiently with his feet up. His enormous fox ears were twitching gently. “Harriet,” he said happily. “You look very nice.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. “Percy, would you please take the spell off my eyes? Sally-Anne’s wearing green and she wants us to match.”

“Well,” Percy said. “I can’t see why not. Want the ears gone, too? Or the hair?”

“No!” Harriet said. “It’s part of House Weasley, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Alright, take your glasses off and hold still, would you?”

Upstairs, Sally-Anne did something to Harriet's hair, which she hardly paid any attention to. She was more enthralled with Sally-Anne recounting her roles in The Nutcracker. “I got to play a mouse one year, and a mechanical doll the next,” she said. “We did our hair like this when we were dolls. And now, look! We look just as pretty.”

They smiled at each other in the mirror. “Christmas here is like a dream,” Sally-Anne sighed. “There’s always someone to play with, and fresh snow nearly every day, and so much hot cocoa you could drink it ‘til you burst.”

“You’ll love the feast,” Harriet said. “There’s going to be loads of food, I bet. And magical crackers, you’ll like those especially. They’ve always got hats in them, and lots of good toys, and chocolate that melts away in your mouth. Look, let’s not wait for the others to be ready. The boys are going to take _ages_. We’ll go down early and just look at the decorations. No one will mind.”

“Alright,” Sally-Anne said. “Let me get my shoes. Mummy sent me these little silk slippers for Christmas, with flowers all over them.”

The halls were delicately hushed as they made their way downstairs. The soft shh of Sally-Anne’s slippers and the click-clack of Harriet's boot heels were the only noises. The portraits were off celebrating somewhere, all the frames empty.

The stairs for the third floor seemed to take forever to arrive. Harriet kicked her heel back and forth and froze as a noise echoed down the corridor. She grabbed Sally-Anne’s arm and drew her wand.

“Listen,” she hissed.

There two men were arguing fiercely.

“—d-don’t know why you wanted t-to meet here of all places, Severus. P-please let go of my arm.”

There was a weak cry of pain.

“Didn’t Quirrell go home for Christmas?” Sally-Anne said right into Harriet's ear.

“Oh I thought I’d keep this private,” Snape said. Shivers ran down Harriet's spine. “Students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone, after all. Have you found out how to get past that beast yet?”

“B-b-but Severus, I—”

“You haven’t, then. Shall I assume the same for your little after-hours investigation of who our thief is?”

“I-I don’t know what you—”

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” Snape growled.

“B-but I don’t—”

“Very well,” Snape said. “We’ll have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie.”

And then there were footsteps cracking down the hall towards them. Harriet’s head gave a throb, pain pricking out everywhere, and she pulled off her glasses to rub across her watering eyes.

Sally-Anne's face was a pale circle. She’d drawn her wand, too, and before Harriet could stop her, stepped before Harriet.

Snape loomed out of the shadows, Quirrell skulking at his heels. They jerked back when they saw Sally-Anne there.

“Perks!” Snape barked.

“W-what are you d-doing here?” Professor Quirrell said. One of them glanced over Sally-Anne’s shoulder. Harriet couldn’t tell who in the dim light.

“We’re just waiting for the stairs,” Sally-Anne said softly.

“ _We_?” Snape demanded.

Harriet peered around her again and looked up at the pale blur of faces. One of them staggered back, and the pain increased.

The stairs swung around with a low creak. “Get out, both of you,” Snape snarled, furious.

“Are, are you alright, sir?” Sally-Anne asked. Harriet put her glasses back on and groped for her hand.

“Out!” he shouted.

They fled, down the stairs, and then the next set, and the next, until they were panting near the doors to the Great Hall. Harriet gave a glance around, once she was sure they were alone, pushed the doors a little. They slid inside and stared at each other.

“My scar’s burning,” Harriet said, easing her fingers along the thin lines of it.

“You don’t think—” Sally-Anne asked.

“They were on the third floor,” Harriet said. “And arguing. And Snape, he was really angry.”

“Oh, I know Milly didn’t know anything!” Sally-Anne cried. “It’s got to be him! Maybe he wasn’t the one trying to kill you, but he’s _got_ to be the one after the stone.”

“The Philosopher’s Stone,” Harriet hissed. Cold sweat prickled along her scalp and her scar ached so hard she was nearly seeing double. She said a word that made Sally-Anne go scarlet. “This is worse than we thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing like sudden freezing weather in mumblecity in the southwest to make it feel like christmas! if you ever were curious what i look like, imagine a chocolate sphere made completely out of hastily unpacked winter clothes. i'm the delicious, caramel-y center.
> 
> and wow guys, this chapter really kicked my ass. i think as the plot thickens, i'm going to have to go to once a week updating. it'll probaby be a mid-week one. sorry guys :C
> 
> and! i had a chat with my pre-reader, and cut some of the christmas material out, just to fix the flow--especially another very grinchy scene. turns out gratuitous christmas wordvomit isn't a flavor everyone likes? it'll probably come up as an excerpt on _carry out the pictures_ when i've got some time to edit it. snape POV, anyone?
> 
> anyways, lots of stuff happens! hope you enjoy reading about it as much as i enjoyed writing it! <3333333


	9. Chapter 9

Harriet's legs ached. She was still shivering cold from walking back from Hogsmeade in the snow, and no matter how deeply she bundled down into her bed, she couldn’t get warm again. Wassailing had been brilliant, and she’d never been as satisfied as when Fred and George had sung the song from the Grinch when Snape had entered the first house in the village. But there was no way she was going to be able to sleep now.

She was careful not to wake Sally-Anne when she slid out of bed and put her slippers back on. Sally-Anne had been sleeping half-awake ever since Christmas day, and Harriet winced at the creak of her trunk as she lifted the lid.

She was reaching in, carefully, for her mum’s journals, when her fingers touched something else. Cool, but not cold. Slick, but not wet.

She pulled the invisibility cloak out. She hadn’t used it yet, not even to look around, and surely _everyone_ would be in bed by now. It was nearly two, and all the professors had come back from the village with them.

And if someone _was_ awake, well—

Maybe the ghost of New Years Past would visit them.

The portrait didn’t even creak. Harriet padded down the corridor, and down the stairs. The third floor was empty. No professors, no mystery thieves, no Mrs. Norris or Filch. She pressed her ear to the crack of the door and felt reassured beyond belief at the soft growling on the other side.

Something glowing flickered.

She jerked back, heart pounding, and watched as a silvery parade of ghosts went past. There was Professor Binns, the Bloody Baron, Nearly Headless Nick, the Fat Friar, and several other ghosts Harriet didn’t know. They glided across the hallway silently, and Harriet trotted off after them.

She got lost almost at once. The castle looked so strange at night—dark and ominous. They went up and up, higher and deeper into the castle, and Harriet's head churned trying to remember the way.

And then finally, the parade of ghosts started passing through a wall, one by one. Harriet hissed in disappointment. It would take forever to find a way around to where they were going, and she felt so tired now.

One of the ghosts turned, like he had heard her. The Bloody Baron, looking right at her! Could ghosts see through invisibility cloaks? Harriet held her breath to keep from gasping. The Baron said something low to one of the ghosts in armor, and started to drift back down the way they’d come.

The corridor was too narrow. He’d pass right through Harriet, and there was no way she could be quiet when he did it. She scrambled back, nearly tripping on the puddled hem of the cloak. There was a single cracked door behind her, just wide enough for a little girl to fit through. She slid into the space, fiercely glad the cloak didn’t catch on anything, and held her breath.

The Bloody Baron drifted by. Harriet ducked further into the room, and waited until she saw his silvery glow disappear. One minute went by, then two. Had he gone back around a different way? She was too scared to leave, and too cold to keep standing there in the doorway, watching for him.

Ten minutes, she thought. I’ll wait ten minutes, then it’ll be safe to go back to bed.

She tugged the cloak off of her head, and wrapped herself firmly in it. It warmed to her touch quickly, like silk, and as she padded further into the dusty room, her shivers stopped.

The room had lots of interesting things in it. There was a stack of desks and chairs, and several crumbled piles of cloth that a gentle prod from her foot revealed to be old tapestries left to unravel. She was peering around the dark corners, trying to see if there was anything she could sit on, when movement flashed.

Harriet jerked back, and grabbed her wand out. And then she laughed.

“Just a mirror,” she muttered. “God, if Dora knew—”

It was a large mirror, tucked near the window, and didn’t hardly fit with the abandoned rubbish that filled the rest of the room. It had big golden feet, and strange writing across the top. She stepped closer to get a better look, craning her neck, and barely started trying to read the weird-looking words when something moved in the mirror.

There was a man, standing behind her.

She gave a cry and whirled around, but the room was empty. “Hello?” she cried. “Who’s there!”

More movement out of the corner of her eye. The cloak slipped off her shoulders and fell to the floor. She jerked toward the mirror, and her mouth fell open. There _was_ a man standing behind her, and a woman, too. And she knew them. She _knew_ them!

“Mum?” she whispered. “Dad?”

Her dad grinned and nodded. He winked at her gently. Her mum was crying, a hand over her mouth, and she reached out and put her hand on Harriet's shoulder in the reflection. There wasn’t any weight, or warmth. When Harriet raised her own trembling hand, it felt only air, and the soft fabric of her nightgown.

Someone walked into the frame from the side. A tall, older man with brown hair and brown eyes, who nudged her dad in the shoulder. Her dad turned and said something to him, and the older man smiled. And then a woman, small, and dark like her dad, with a mass of black hair floating around her shoulders. She looked so familiar as she waved at Harriet, and said something she couldn’t hear at all. She took the older man’s hand.

And then next to her mum, an old man and an old woman. They were tall and fair, and the man had red hair. And the woman, she had green eyes. Eyes like her mum, eyes like Harriet.

The space behind them started to fill. More men and women, some of them who looked like Harriet, and some of them she didn’t recognize at all. They crowded in around her parents and grandparents, talking and laughing, and looking at Harriet hungrily.

_Sweetheart_ , her mum said silently. Her mouth made the words, even though there was no sound. She put her hand to the mirror, a pale palm, and Harriet put her own to it. It should have been warm, but it was just cold glass.

She couldn’t hear them, couldn’t touch them. They were _dead_ , and no magic could ever bring back the dead.

She wanted to smash the mirror. It was a lie, had to be a filthy, awful lie. But it was a lie she wanted, and if the silver surface had turned into a liquid puddle, she would have stepped through without a thought. She sat down slowly, watching as her mum knelt gracefully to settle behind her. She touched Harriet's hair, and pressed her face to it.

Her dad was saying something to a long-haired man behind him. The man grinned, and waved at Harriet, and threw an arm around her dad’s shoulders. Her dad’s mum, there wasn’t anyone else it could have been, knelt down with Harriet too. She petted Harriet's shoulder tenderly.

There was always someone new to look at. Harriet stared and stared, looking at all the people she’d never known, and they all looked back, so happy to see her. They all loved her. They all wanted her. They looked back and mouthed things, put their hands to the glass like they would touch her if they could. Time slipped away while she looked at them; time had no meaning in the world of the dead.

Golden light came kissing in the window. It was dawn already. Harriet pulled her hand away and took the cloak up. “I’ll be back,” she said in a whisper. Her mum blew her a kiss.

And her dad said something and quirked an eyebrow. _Making trouble?_ Harriet thought.

“Yeah,” Harriet said. “I’m making trouble. I’ll come back, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

She kissed the mirror, hardly caring that her lips touched only her own reflection, and threw the cloak over herself. The girl in the mirror disappeared, but the people around her lingered, staring back every time she checked over her shoulder, until she left the room at last.

* * *

The carriages were pulling up in a long and lazy line. Sally-Anne was vibrating with excitement, the tips of her toes making restless patterns on the stone steps. Harriet had to pull her twice out of the way of students walking past them, and both times Sally-Anne didn’t even notice being shifted to the side.

Finally, Millicent and Hermione came pouring out of one of the carriages. “Harriet!” Hermione cried, and rushed over to hug her. “You never wrote! Oh, you’re awful, I was so worried.”

Millicent was crushing Sally-Anne, who seemed pleased with the development. “We got a little sidetracked,” Harriet said, and patted Hermione's back. She’d gotten a new headband, which had tiny singing bluebirds on it. They all fluttered irritably at Harriet when she tweaked the tail of one of them.

“I hope it was because you were researching,” Hermione said firmly and pulled away. “I spent all of break in the library at home, looking through the Muggle books. There’s a bigger overlap than you’d think. I found some viable options. Here, let me go unpack my things and I’ll pull out the list.”

Millicent groaned. She’d put Sally-Anne down and was trying to ruffle Harriet's hair. Harriet slapped her hand away. “We _just_ got back, Granger. Can’t this wait?”

“No,” Hermione said. “Honestly, Millicent. We’ve missed three weeks of study time, and exams are coming up. If you thought we were busy before, then wait until I give you the study schedule I made.”

Harriet shot a glance at Millicent, who rolled her eyes. “She’s been going on and on about how we need to start revising _now_ ,” Millicent said. “The whole train-ride, practically. I tried to ask her what she got for Christmas, and she told me that I had to bring my Astronomy grade up four and a half percent if I wanted to be on the class average.”

“That’s nice,” Harriet said. Sally-Anne snorted helplessly. “Look, let’s talk about grades later, alright? We’ve got some things to tell you.”

“You’re laughing now,” Hermione said. “But when your parents get your report cards—”

“They’ll be pleased I only failed Potions,” Harriet said. “Look, come up to the loo. We’ve really got some news.”

Sally-Anne was vibrating again. Millicent gave her a look. “Relax, Perks,” she said. “The way you’re acting, I’ll think you’ve found out whatever the hell’s behind that bloody door.”

“Loo!” Harriet said, and steered Hermione and Millicent toward the castle doors. “Now!”

Sally-Anne had sellotaped a browning piece of holly above one of the sinks. “Cheerful,” Millicent said. “Raises the ambiance. Bet it really improved Myrtle’s mood.”

One of the toilets sobbed sulkily.

“Don’t set her off,” Hermione scolded. “Look, Sally-Anne, why don’t you just tell us before you explode.”

Sally-Anne shot Harriet a look. “Go ahead,” Harriet told her, and drifted toward one of the windows. Her head was aching again, splitting pain that went all over her face, and her eyes felt like sandpaper.

“WEFOUNDTHESTONE!” Sally-Anne cried at last, and leapt in the air several times. “IT’STHEPHILOSOPHERSSTONEANDSNAPEISAFTERITANDHESBULLYINGQUIRRELANDNOWWEVEGOTTOMAKEALILYPOTIONTOSTOPHIMITSAWFUL!”

Millicent laughed. “Didn’t understand a single word of that, Perks. Try again and use punctuation this time.”

Sally-Anne stopped throwing herself through the air, and squinted at them. “We… found… out… which… stone… it… is,” she said, draggingly slow. “And Snape _is_ trying to steal it, just not kill Harriet. He’s bullying Quirrell to make him learn how to get past the dog in there, and hurting him so he doesn’t tell anyone what he’s doing! We heard them on Christmas, arguing about it! Oh, and Harriet's got a plan to get proof, because her mum was a genius, but we need you and Hermione to help, too, because we can’t figure it out on our own because Potions is awful and neither of us knows Latin. And Harriet's got a wicked new cloak, so we’ve been spying! And _you_ wanted to go home! So guess who missed all the fun? Ha!” she cried, and leapt up again, like an overexcited rabbit.

“And you thought riding the train up was bad,” Hermione said to Millicent. “Honestly, I heard everything she said but it didn’t make a single bit of sense.”

“Look here,” Millicent said firmly. “You found out what the stone is?”

“Yes, yes!”

“And _Snape_ is trying to steal it?”

“Uh-huh!”

“And Harriet's got a plan to stop him, but needs our help because she’s pants at Latin?”

“That’s right!”

“Oh, I told Da I should stay here! You’ve gone mad after all!”

The ground was speckled with snow still, but now there were long foot-trails running through it. Harriet blinked slowly, letting her eyes unfocus, until there was only a white-dark blur. She knew she shouldn’t have stayed up the night before, but her mum and dad had been listening so intently when she told them about her plan.

She yawn, and stretched until her chest ached with it. “Sally-Anne’s not a nutter,” she said firmly. “We heard Snape and Quirrell arguing—listen, Millicent. They’ve got the Philosopher’s Stone squirrelled away here.”

Millicent went the color of milk. “No,” she said at once. “They can’t—not the real one.”

Hermione was gaping. “The one that makes gold?” she demanded. “The one that makes people _immortal_? That’s supposed to be a myth.”

“Well, it’s not,” Harriet said. “We went through the whole bloody library hoping it wasn’t true. But Nicholas Flamel, he invented one ages ago. And people have been trying to get it ever since—he’s only been seen a handful of times ‘cause he’s got to keep the Stone hidden. And listen, he and Professor Dumbledore? They’re friends. They’ve worked together on loads of projects.”

Millicent swore, colorfully. “If it’s here,” she said haltingly. “Well, my mum and da used to tell me stories about it, right? And they always said in the stories that it could bring someone back from the dead. I know that isn’t true, nothing can do that, but if someone _thinks_ it can—”

“If Snape thinks it can,” Sally-Anne said. “He’s the one after it, Milly. All the proof, it points to him.”

“Just because he got bit by the dog! Sprout did too, and she was only checking on it. And that argument, I bet he’s not really after it. I bet Quirrell is, and Snape’s, what did Sally-Anne call it? A double blind? To stop him!”

The whole room echoed with her shout. She looked around at them, and only Harriet met her eyes. “Maybe it’s Snape,” Harriet said carefully. “And maybe it’s not. But someone _is_ after it, and we’ve got to get proof, so the grown-ups can stop him.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, shooting Millicent a look. “Sally-Anne said something about a potion?”

“And about your mum,” Millicent said. “Doesn’t she work for the Department of Mysteries? They’ve got access to all kinds of things there.”

“She does,” Harriet said. “But this is about my other mum.”

Slowly, she pulled out the notebook from where she’d tucked it in her coat. Whoever had sent it, they hadn’t said she had to keep it to herself. But it still felt sour, like a betrayal of something precious, something intensely private.

“Someone’s been sending my mum’s school journals to me,” Harriet said. “No, don’t ask who. I don’t know. But my mum, she was really clever. There were these boys bothering her and nicking things out of her bag, but she couldn’t catch them. So she came up with this potion that would give her proof.”

“It’s amazing,” Sally-Anne cried. “It gets on the thief’s hands, and you can use a spell to see it. Only, it won’t light up anyone else’s hands, because they didn’t want to steal anything.”

“Yeah,” Harriet said. “But she could never get the potion to work, or maybe the incantation. She didn’t know what was wrong with one of them, or if it was both.”

“An intention-based potion,” Hermione said slowly. “I’ve read about those. They’re difficult to make, let alone invent. You’ve got to use symbolism and things to brew it. And I’ve never heard of one activated by a Charm.” She puffed her cheeks out and started to pace around the sinks.

“How close was your mum to finishing it?” Millicent demanded. “Did you read ahead? Maybe she does.”

Harriet fidgeted. “She’s got the ingredients, and how to prepare most of them. And maybe she does finish it later,” she said. “But if she did, it’s got to be in another journal. And I’ve only got her first year.”

“Well, it’s not like you can write your mysterious benefactor and ask him,” Millicent said. “Don’t suppose he’s done a daddy-long-legs and given you a forwarding address.”

Harriet snorted. “I wish they’d had,” she said. “But if wishes were horses—”

Hermione came around the other side of the sinks. She let out a breath, and said, “We’ve got to do it. There’s no other way.” She looked at them all, face set firmly.

“If you think we can,” Sally-Anne said, “then I do too. There’s four of us, after all.”

Harriet ran her fingers over the cover of the book. “We’ll finish it,” she said. “And then they’ll have to believe us.”

Millicent huffed. “Well, I’m not going to be the one to sacrifice my cauldron, Snape would skin me. But I guess there’s no harm in trying.”

* * *

January melted into February far too quick for Harriet's tastes. She was trying to split her time between a laundry list of things—brewing noxiously in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, creeping out at night to see her parents, creeping out at night to guard the door on days when Snape seemed in a good mood, actually attending classes, and going to Quidditch practice. It was teaching her something she had never thought about before—that twenty-four hours wasn’t a very long time at all.

Even Hermione—who walked around now with her nose buried in a Potions book—was noticing, commenting that Harriet looked far paler, and scolding her when she fell asleep in class. Harriet was managing to eek by with naps in the afternoon and drowsing instead of eating at dinner, but the grades on her essays were starting to slide steadily downward.

When Professor McGonagall asked her to stay after class one day, Harriet wanted to cry. “I’ve got Quidditch practice, Professor!” she said. “We play Hufflepuff in three weeks!”

“It’s been cancelled,” Professor McGonagall said, and swept away. “Everyone turn to page two hundred and fifteen! Today we will be learning how to turn an alloyed needle back into one of its base metals.”

After class, Harriet dragged her feet to Professor McGonagall’s podium sulkily. Hermione had told her in a whisper that she would continue on with the potion—they were trying their second attempt at following Lily’ directions, having melted a cauldron on the first try—and said she’d save Harriet some dinner if her meeting wandered into it. Harriet, who had never felt less hungry in her life, had thanked her sullenly.

Professor McGonagall was stacking up parchment essays as Harriet approached. “Miss Tonks,” she said. “I assume you know why I’ve asked you to stay behind.”

“No, Professor,” Harriet said.

Professor McGonagall paused. “It is February, Miss Tonks,” she said. “Your meetings with Mister Taylor were scheduled to begin this month.”

“They _were_?” Harriet asked, perking up. “Did he cancel them?”

“No,” Professor McGonagall said, and frowned at her. “In fact, the first one is to take place today. Please report to the Headmaster’s office. You may use the password ‘Jelly Slugs’.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Harriet asked. “Professor Dumbledore said—”

“There has been a minor change,” Professor McGonagall told her. “Another Head of House will be attending in my place. However, please remember that you are still representing Gryffindor, and I expect to hear that you were on your best behavior.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harriet said, feeling incredulous. Professor McGonagall was just abandoning her? What if Umbridge was there? She hoped Professor Sprout wouldn’t be the Head of House, who got soppy sometimes when she talked to Harriet, because then Harriet would be suffocated between the two.

The gargoyle’s hat was gone. Harriet was a little disappointed to see that it hadn’t been replaced by anything. She told it the password, and was just about to step through the door at the top of the stairs when she heard a voice that sent chills down her spine. No.

“—particular experience in identifying abused children,” Snape was saying. “The Headmaster thought it best that I also attend these meetings. Nowhere in the school codas does it say that the Head of House must belong to the _child’s_ House. Should you have a problem with _that_ , you will have to take it up with the Board of Governors.”

“Yes, that may be true,” Mister Taylor said. “But I have also specifically requested the adult that attends is one trusted by Miss Tonks. I feel this is especially important in light of the other visitors.”

A high, feminine voice tittered. “Oh I’m sure the girl won’t mind us at all, Taylor,” a man said. “That whole family is insistent they have nothing left to hide. Surely they’ll be jumping at the chance to prove it.”

“Mister Rosier—”

A very sweet sounding bird warbled.

“Gentlemen,” Professor Dumbledore said. “And gentlelady. I believe the child in question has arrived. Miss Tonks, you may come in.”

Harriet pushed the door open with dread. There was Snape, and Umbridge, and Mister Taylor, and a man she didn’t know. “Sir,” she said to Professor Dumbledore.

“Miss Tonks,” he said. “Come in, come in. No, no need for another chair, Severus. Miss Tonks may have my seat, for I am leaving in just a moment.”

The big red bird was perched on the back of Professor Dumbledore’s chair, and turned its head to stare at her. Harriet swallowed.

“No need to appear dismayed, my dear. Fawkes is very well-behaved. Charles, I believe you are the only person Miss Tonks does not know, so I shall introduce the two of you before I depart. Miss Tonks, this is Mister Rosier—he is Mister Taylor’s supervisor and has come to represent his department’s interests in your case. Mister Rosier, this is of course Miss Tonks.”

The man sitting next to Umbridge rose. He was tall, with neatly combed dark hair, and cold eyes. “Miss Tonks, a pleasure,” he said, and took Harriet's hand. He bowed over it shallowly. “We are all in your debt for your service to the Wizarding World.”

His hand was cool and dry. Harriet took hers away and wiped it subtly on her uniform. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

Professor Dumbledore came around his desk, and ushered Harriet into his seat. The bird, Fawkes, trilled sweetly, bowing to her as she sat, and then he set about preening an escaped piece of Harriet's braid. “Have courage, my dear girl,” Professor Dumbledore said very quietly. And then he left, pulling the door shut behind him, and the interrogation began.

Mister Taylor cast a spell. “This is going to keep a record of our interviews,” he told Harriet gravely. “It makes our conversations viewable in a Pensieve from an outside perspective. It’s important that I keep a record, because these interviews are going to help determine the matter of your guardianship. But you don’t need to be nervous. Only I and a judge or court will be viewing these.”

“Alright,” Harriet said. She swallowed. The air glittered gold and purple, then settled.

“Now, we’re going to talk for a little bit,” Mister Taylor told her. “So I can get to know you. My colleagues are only going to observe today, alright?”

Harriet gripped the edge of the desk and nodded. “Good,” Mister Taylor said. “Now, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself.”

“I—I don’t know.”

“What do you like to do? I know you play Quidditch.”

“I’m the Seeker, I guess. I dunno.”

“You’re a little young for that,” Mister Taylor said mildly.

Harriet swallowed again. The others were staring at her. She had to be brave. Her mum would have been brave. She sat up straighter, like when ‘Dromeda-mum chided her to mind her manners, and said, “Well, I wasn’t supposed to be, but during my first flying lesson, Professor McGonagall saw me…”

* * *

“—and she tried it with a different base instead of a water base—”

“Ink’s good for writing, keeping track of things. Maybe, look, it says seep in ink—”

“Yes, we can try it with that. That’s clever, really.”

* * *

“—and brewing that stuff is horrible, Mum. I was gagging so hard. We were just trying to boil it, anyways. We really didn’t mean to _stew_ it, I can tell you that! No, don’t laugh at me. Da-ad!”

“Oh, alright, I guess it is funny. Ugh, I still smell like it. My robes are never going to be the same. I should have just stuffed them down the toilet and been done with it.”

* * *

“Let’s talk about your family today, Harriet. Let’s start with an easy one, alright? Who’s in it?”

“Well, there’s Mum and Dad and Dora. And the Colonel, he’s our cat. D’you want to know just who’s still around? ‘Cause Granny Tonks, she died a few years ago.”

“No, that’s fine. You can include people who’ve died.”

“Well, my other mum and dad, then. And I’ve got loads of aunts and uncles, only I’m not really related to them. We just call them that.”

“Can you list a few for me?”

“Uncle Kingsley and Auntie Sarah, and Mister Moon, my mum’s boss, he’s kind of like a grandfather. Auntie Emmaline, she works with my dad. I dunno, I don’t remember all of them. We only really see them at Christmas and all.”

“That’s fine. More than enough for me. Anyone else you might have forgotten?”

“Well, Neville. He’s my godbrother.”

“And who lives at home with you?”

“Mum and Dad, and Dora when she’s not at school.”

“Nobody else?”

“No.”

* * *

“And I can’t believe that Sally-Anne’s mum knows Latin. That’s so weird for a Muggle. But look, we’ve made loads of progress ‘cause of her.”

“Oh, we’re still trying to get all the grinding and everything perfect. The other day, we had to pulverize slug eyes. I’m so jealous you’ve just got to write a bunch.”

“Well, the incantation’s got to be straightforward. Your mum almost had it, look, but she messed up this word, praedo. It should have been directarius, I reckon.”

“Do you think that’s why it didn’t work?”

“Well, there’s a pretty big difference between them. It might be.”

“My eyes are swimming just reading this, God. How’d you _learn_ this, Millicent? Mum wanted to teach Dora and me, but Dad said no.”

“My granddad got me a tutor. It was boring, Tonks. You got out easy. Look, we’ve just got to conjugate everything, then it should be good for testing.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

“Oh, ages, probably. I hardly remember anything about it, and if we ask Sally-Anne’s mum anything else she’s going to get suspicious.”

* * *

“—can’t believe you actually cursed him, but I guess he shouldn’t have been so mean to Mary like that. J’s so awful. Did Marlene really start calling you Tigerlily after that? I laughed when I saw she made you some arrows to chuck next time, instead. She sounds so funny.”

“Oh, stop gagging, Dad. I bet she’s funnier than you. Yeah, I do! I know you’re just pretending to cry, stoppit. Yeah, you are! Hagrid told me you can do that. I go have tea with him after I have to talk to Mister Taylor.”

“He tells me stories about you two. And sometimes Neville comes too, and we talk about his parents too. It’s sad, sort of, but kind of fun. Is that awful, that I like it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Don’t cry, Mum, please.”

* * *

“Let’s talk about your home today. Can you describe it for me, please?”

“Well, it’s just a house. I dunno, there’s a living room, and a kitchen, and Mum’s got a brewing room we aren’t allowed to go in, and Dad’s office, he’s got all kinds of books in there.”

“Do you have your own room? Or do you share with your sister?”

“No, I’ve got my own room.”

“Why don’t you tell me a little about what’s in it.”

“My bookshelves, and all of my books. And I’ve got this cool poster Dora got me—it’s from the Natural History museum. They’ve got this blue whale skeleton there, it’s wicked.”

“Did your mother and father take you?”

“No, Dora did. We took the train. Mum and Dad had work, and anyways, they’re pants at museums. They both want to make each other look at different things.”

“Sounds like they argued about it. Do your parents argue a lot?”

“Oh. I dunno. Some, I guess. But everyone does!”

“Yes, they do. I’ve gotten into a few arguments just this week, myself.”

“Yeah.”

“Do they ever do more than argue? Do they fight?”

“No, they don’t fight.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Madame Umbridge, we’ve discussed interrupting several times now.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Will you answer one more question for me?”

“I guess.”

“When your parents argue, do they _just_ use words?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do they ever curse each other, or hit each other?”

“No. I keep telling you, we don’t do that!”

* * *

“If we try adding the snaproot after we stir deasil, and _then_ put in the horned slug eyes—”

“No, we’ve got to keep the widdershins stirs. Remember Moste Basyck Potiones? They’re balancing out the acidity of the nightshade. God, if we make it curdle _again_ —”

“Oh honestly, I might cry. I’m out of clean robes and I still haven’t patched the holes in my shoes from the last time.”

“What about if we mull the scarab beetles in moonwater before we add them? That’ll take away some of the—shit!”

“Quick, get on the sink! Oh, Sally-Anne and Millicent had better turn up soon, there’s no way we can jump for the door from here.”

“Urgh, is it eating the grime on the stones? Did we make a _floor cleaner_? Think we can bottle and sell it?”

“No one would want it anyway, it smells foul.”

“I bet it was the lady’s slipper reacting to the ginger. I’ve got to write that down. Look, cheer up, Hermione. We’ll get it eventually, and they’re almost done with the incantation.”

“I know we’ll get it. I’m not worried about that. But how long is it going to take? It’s nearly the end of March and we still don’t have anything close to working.”

* * *

“What does the word discipline mean to you?”

“Following the rules and all. Getting punished when you don’t. And minding your manners, I guess.”

“How was your dad disciplined when he was growing up?”

“He had to do a lot of chores, I think. Like washing windows and stuff. Not normal chores.”

“Are these chores something _you_ do now?”

“No, well, we do them all together. The first and middle Saturday of the month. Dad makes it a party, kind of.”

“And how was your mum disciplined?”

“She doesn’t like to talk about that.”

“That’s fine. Say you got in trouble. Can you think of a time you got in trouble?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I tried to Floo to my Granny’s house once. Mum caught me with a foot in the grate.”

“How did your parents discipline you after that?”

“Well, they made me sit in the hallway. I had to just sit there, no books or anything, just thinking about what I did. And then, after everyone calmed down, they came and talked to me. They asked why I wanted to run away, and what they could do to make me less unhappy at home, and that was the end of it.”

“Just talk? Was that typical of their discipline?”

“Yes!”

“So they’ve never used magic to discipline you? Or physical violence?”

“No, because they’re not awful!”

“ _Why_ did you want to run away? Don’t look at me like that, Taylor. I’m within my rights to ask.”

“They were fighting.”

“About what?”

“You claimed your guardians did not fight.”

“Um. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

* * *

“Have you ever felt uncomfortable at home?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Has anyone ever said anything inappropriate to you? Complimented your body, or talked to you about sex?”

“No. I mean, I got the Talk.”

“Before you came to school? How old were you?”

“This summer. Dora got her, well, you know, when she was ten. Mum was worried I might not know what was happening if I got mine at school this year.”

“Could you tell me some of the things your parents said?”

“Just, like puberty. Do I have to tell you with _them_ there?”

“Only as much as you’re comfortable saying.”

“Well I know about _biology_. And I know I’m way too young to be doing anything with anyone, and anyways, that’s kind of gross.”

“But you do know what an appropriate touch is and what’s an inappropriate touch?”

“Yeah.”

“Has an adult you trusted ever touched you inappropriately?”

“No!”

“Say an adult did. No, not your parents, one of their friends. What do you think would be their response?”

“They’d _kill_ them.”

* * *

“Who takes care of you at home?”

“My mum and dad.”

“I’m sorry, let me rephrase that. Who takes care of you the most? Makes you breakfast, tucks you in at night.”

“Mum and Dad. They trade off, ‘cause sometimes they have to work late. But someone’s always there.”

“And who takes care of your sister? Is it the same person?”

“Yeah. Only Dora's so old, she doesn’t need much taking care of. And, you know, _she_ takes care of _me_ during the summer.”

“Your parents make her babysit?”

“No, she just wants to. We don’t get to see each other the rest of the year.”

“Could you describe a typical day with your sister?”

“We have breakfast, and then usually we go do something. The library, or a museum, or flying or something. Sometimes we stay home and play games.”

“What kind of games?”

“Muggle ones. Monopoly or Risk.”

“Does she take good care of you? Three meals a day and a reasonable bed-time?”

“Yeah. Dora's the best.”

“And has Dora ever acted inappropriately with you?”

“Ew, no!”

“I don’t just mean physically. No drinking, no parties with lots of older people? Nothing dangerous that might hurt you?”

“No! We just hang out. Dora would never, ever do anything to hurt me.”

* * *

“It’s just so frustrating! He’s asking me all these awful questions, and I keep saying nobody did any of that, but I can tell no-one believes it. And that horrible woman just keeps smiling like she thinks it’s funny. I hate it so much. I just want someone to say, ‘Okay, you can go home at the end of the year.’ But I don’t think Mister Taylor is going to be done by then.”

“I know, I know that you were my mum and dad, but ‘Dromeda-mum and Ted-dad, I love them too. They’re my family. I don’t want them to put me with someone else. It’s _hard_. No, I’m okay. I’m not gonna cry.”

“Thanks for listening, Mum. No one else does, and if I try and tell my friends, they’ll think I’m weird.”

* * *

“Putting the glass lenses in last of all should have fixed it, though! They melted right away and everything. I just don’t understand why it isn’t working!”

“Well, maybe I could look at the original recipe. Really fast. I know you copied everything, but there might have been something you missed.”

“I don’t know—”

“We’re running out of time, Harriet. I know it’s private but, please?”

“Just the recipe, alright?”

“I promise. No other pages, just this one.”

“Okay.”

“I know she’s your mum and everything, but her handwriting is awful. Oh, Harriet, look at this last line!”

“What, the ink spot? She’s just used to pens, is all.”

“No, look closer. Something on the list of ingredients has been smudged out!”

“What? No! Give it here.”

“See, there’s a letter at the edge of it. An a, I think. Oh, no wonder this hasn’t been working. We’ve been missing an ingredient the whole time!”

* * *

Harriet threw herself back onto her nest of blankets. “And I know you can’t actually tell me,” she told the mirror. “And I’m not mad at you or anything. It’s just not fair. Me and Hermione did all this work, trying to find out what you did wrong, and there’s just one ingredient missing! We even know where it’s supposed to go, but we don’t know _what_ it is. Practically the whole three months, wasted.”

Her mum tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave Harriet a patient smile. Her dad had wandered away a while ago to let them talk, and her mum had sat down right away and made herself comfortable. Harriet bet Hermione knew the Charm which the mirror used to know which of her parents she wanted, but she hadn’t asked. She hadn’t told _anyone_ about the mirror. Having to share her mum’s journal was bad enough.

“At least Mister Taylor’s done for now,” she said. “Professor Dumbledore made him leave. He’s going to come back again right after exams, and I just know he’s not coming to say I can go home.”

Lily shook her head and sighed. “I know,” Harriet said. “He’s awful. Well, _he’s_ not awful. But those people—that woman and Mister Rosier—are. And Snape! I’m still mad he got to sit and listen to all the interviews.”

She rolled onto her stomach and propped her head up with her hands. “He’s been awful in class, too,” she said quietly. “He really hates me, and sometimes he says awful things.”

Lily scrunched her face up. “Yeah,” Harriet said. “I make that face too when I see him.”

She stretched and sat back up. “Nothing else has happened with the Stone,” she said. “It’s making me so scared, Mum. I’ve been having these awful dreams about it, and my head hurts nearly all the time too. I just know if Snape would just _do_ something, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

She stared at her mum carefully. Her mum stared back, just as wide-eyed. Someone was walking around the background of the mirror—Harriet couldn’t tell who. She looked back at her mum instead, who smiled at her. “Was it like this during the War?” Harriet asked in a nervous whisper. “All the waiting, was it just as bad?”

“Indeed, Miss Tonks, it was,” Professor Dumbledore said gently. His reflection in the mirror looked kindly, and it looked _real_. “It is one of the reasons I was not suited to be a soldier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week's chapter is a little early, guys, because im about to be drowning in a pile of thanksgiving baking. it's got a lot of dialogue, and i aint ashamed to admit that it's basically one big transitional scene. still, i hope y'all enjoy it just the same!
> 
> later this week, there's probably going to be several little shorts on _carry out the pictures_ , including sally-anne and millicent's first meeting, and hermione and millicent's first meeting. hope y'all check 'em out!
> 
> and lastly, happy thanksgiving to all my american readers! may your turkeys not taste like napkins and your pies be served with mountains of whipped cream! 
> 
> <33333333333


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright guys there's fantasy violence involving **animal harm and death** in this one. i'd rate it on par with the violence of, say, animorphs, but if that's not your thing skip the stuff between "xxx" and "xxx" and instead check out the summary in the end notes!

Sir!” Harriet cried, and scrambled to her feet. “I didn’t realize you were there!”

“Ah, no need to be alarmed,” Professor Dumbledore said gently. “And no need to look so dismayed. To wander and explore our wonderful school is the right of the youth.”

“Even after hours?” Harriet asked nervously.

“I have no intentions to issue a punishment. Wisdom and perspective come with age, my dear, and I find now I have an abundance of all. You have not caused harm to yourself, to another, or to our beloved castle. Therefore you have done nothing wrong. Though I would not mention such activities to the other teachers, who tend to take a sterner view.” He winked.

“Yes, sir,” Harriet said. She offered a hesitant smile.

“Now,” Professor Dumbledore said, looking at her over the top of his glasses, “that is not to say I came upon you by chance. Several of your professors expressed concern with your most recent grades, so I took it upon myself to investigate. I am not surprised to see that you have found this wonderful mirror. Might I be so bold as to venture that you have been spending more than a little time here, looking into it?”

Harriet glanced over her shoulder. The mirror was empty now. “Yes, sir,” she said. She hadn’t thought her grades were _that_ bad. Nothing to write home about, even if she could, but she only had the one Troll.

Professor Dumbledore nodded, and sat down gracefully in Harriet's blanket nest. He patted a space beside him and said, “Have a seat, Miss Tonks. There’s no need to stand at attention for my sake.”

Harriet sank down and folded her knees against her chest. “Sir,” she said very softly, “about the mirror. What _is_ it really? It, it doesn’t just show a reflection.”

“Not a reflection of the face. What we see is a reflection of the heart. Still, a reflection all the same.” Professor Dumbledore looked into the mirror and smiled. “Have you noticed the letters carved at the top of the mirror?”

Harriet craned her neck back to look at where they were carved in jagged, angular cutouts that showed the stone behind them. “Yes, but I couldn’t read them. Are they a foreign language?”

“Of a sort. Allow me to assist you.”

Professor Dumbledore waved his wand, and glowing outlines of the letters appeared. They floated down to eye level, and Harriet stared at them. “Watch carefully,” Professor Dumbledore said, and moved his wand in a careful circle. The letters spun, and when they stopped moving, Harriet made an outraged noise.

“Backwards!” she said furiously. Who had decided on that? “But then you can only read them from the back of the mirror!”

“Yes,” Professor Dumbledore said. “And as bulky as this mirror is, it rarely leaves the wall it leans against. Why they put them there shall remain a tedious mystery.”

Harriet looked at the letters again. “I show no—not your face but your hear—heart’s desire,” she read. “So it shows us what we want?” The mirror was empty still. It looked lonely without her parents. She hadn’t realized before how big and empty the room was when she was the only one standing in it.

“Ah, if only it were that simple. Far fewer people would be entranced by the delights it shows, and there would be no need to hide it away. No, my dear. This mirror, the Mirror of Erised, shows us nothing more or less than the deepest desires of our hearts. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen. Others have been driven mad for want of what it shows, for often our hearts’ desires are impossible to achieve.”

Harriet looked at herself in the mirror. Not at her eyes, but at the shape of her face, the wild curl of her hair. The shadows under her eyes stood out darkly. Had she gotten paler, staying out of the sun and hiding all the time in the bathroom, brewing? Or was she sleeping less than she thought?

“I see my parents,” she said, very quietly. “And other people, too. My grandparents, and cousins. But they’re all dead.” Her breath hitched. Magic was wonderful, but it wasn’t _fair_. “And nothing can bring back the dead.”

Professor Dumbledore sighed. “There are cruel limits on the work of man,” he said. “Is this why you have been spending your nights here? To see them?”

Her throat ached and her eyes went all hot. “Yes,” Harriet said. “Hagrid, he gave me pictures and things ‘cause we didn’t have many when I was little. But it’s not the same.”

“No, I would imagine not.”

And all the mirror showed was them. Professor Dumbledore in his pale purple robes, and Harriet in her pajamas. They both looked sad, Harriet thought. She knew she certainly felt miserable.

“Sir,” she said, “what do you see when you look in the mirror?”

Professor Dumbledore met her eyes in the reflection. Harriet had thought a lot of things about him, but she had never considered him _old_ before. He always wore these pretty, funny clothes, and didn’t use a cane or anything, and he never had trouble keeping up with the other teachers. But in the mirror, he seemed ancient.

“Another impossibility,” he said. “It both delights and torments me, and so I take pains not to come here too often. To look upon our desires come true but lingering always beyond our means, it will not give us knowledge or truth, only pain. And so I must ask the same of you, Harriet. Please do not come here again. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

Harriet felt like she should have expected that. And she looked so tired in the mirror, even if she didn’t feel tired sitting there in front of it all the time. “Yes, sir.”

“Instead, I ask that you look towards your life. Attend to your friends, your fun, and your grades in equal measure, and I have no doubt what wounds the mirror might have opened will heal. Will you do that for me?”

Harriet wiped her eyes and nodded. She’d known the whole time, but it had felt good to forget that this wasn't real. Good to pretend that the people in the mirror really were her family, and that they could hear her even if she couldn’t hear them.

Somewhere outside, the clock tower chimed a two beat.

“The hour grows late,” Professor Dumbledore said and patted her shoulder. “We should both retire. I will lock the door when I leave, to help remove any temptation to return, and soon the mirror will find a new home, one where it shall not entrance someone again.”

He stood up, and Harriet scrambled to her feet, picking up her blankets and draping the cloak around her shoulders. She looked up as she did. Professor Dumbledore was out of the mirror now, and she stood there alone, except for her mum, who looked back with large, wet eyes. Her mum was reaching out, pressing a pale hand to the glass.

She wasn't real. She wouldn't miss Harriet when Harriet left. But Harriet would miss her.

“Sir,” she said nervously, “I, I won’t look for the mirror again, but I was wondering, could I—I know they aren’t real, but…”

“You wish to say goodbye?”

Harriet nodded, and looked over her shoulder at him. He was standing by the door, smiling sadly. “Of course,” he told her. “I shall wait just outside the door.”

He slipped through the door, and it shut with a faint thump.

Harriet turned back to the mirror. Her mum was standing closer now, her other hand over her trembling mouth.

“It’s stupid,” Harriet told the mirror. “Thinking you were real. Whoever made the mirror was great at building things, but terrible, too. I just wish he’d thought about ways to bring back the dead instead of ways to made real people go mad.”

The woman in the mirror nodded gently.

“Goodbye, Mum,” Harriet said. She turned to go, but the woman said something, her mouth moving silently. _Wait_ , Harriet thought.

The woman pressed herself against the glass, and breathed a gentle mist across it. With a long, pale finger, the woman wrote something strange, and squinted at it. She shook her head, laughing, and rubbed it away with a slash of her sleeve.

Harriet drifted closer, eyes wide.

The woman tried again. Slowly, laboriously, she wrote crooked letters in the fogged silver.

A L M O N D B L O S S O M

Harriet stared. When her mum was done, she looked at Harriet, and kissed her own fingers, then pressed them tenderly to the cheek of the girl in the mirror.

The fog across the mirror vanished slowly, one letter at a time, but it had been there. It had. “I love you, Mum,” Harriet said slowly. “And Dad, too. Will you tell him?” Her mum nodded, and touched her own chest, right above her heart. “I know,” Harriet said. “I think I’ve always known.”

* * *

The cauldron was letting off gentle wisps of steam. Harriet, standing back far enough that she could barely reach, dumped in the load of flowers. They turned immediately into a white froth and sizzled heartily, but nothing blew up.

Slowly, the froth melted into green and turned the potion into gentle simmering goop.

She let out her breath. “That’s that, then,” she told Hermione, who was loitering near the door for dread of ruining another pair of shoes. “This should cook down overnight, then we can test it.”

Hermione pulled a piece of parchment out of her bag and approached carefully. Harriet wanted to laugh, seeing how mistrustfully she looked at the cauldron, but pinched her mouth shut in case it would distract her. Hermione had a quill now, and she was scribbling rapidly, checking her watch, writing again. Harriet fidgeted anxiously. If something else went wrong _now_ , she’d cry.

Finally, Hermione looked up with a frown and said, “We probably should have started this later. I know we were excited, but we’ll have to come back practically in the middle of the night to take the potion off the fire.”

A weight the size of the London Bridge lifted off Harriet's shoulders. “That’s fine,” she said easily. “Here I was thinking something would _actually_ be wrong. No, I’ll come by after lights out and pull it off. You won’t even have to get out of bed and go with me if you don’t want to. In fact, you probably shouldn’t. I need someone to stay and cover for me if the prefects do a bed check.”

“Well I’m certainly not going to let you go by yourself,” Hermione said and put a hand on her hip and flapped the parchment at Harriet. “Honestly, Harriet! Letting you go guard the door is bad enough, invisibility cloak or not! And now _more_ wandering around at night? Just think about many times you’ve almost been killed this year!”

“Does making Madame Pince angry count?” Harriet asked. She offered Hermione a grin. “’Cause then it’d be about a thousand.”

Hermione made a furious noise, like an ancient teakettle.

“Look,” Harriet said. “Those things _happened_ , and I know you’re worried. I’m a little scared, too. But Dora's on the Quidditch case, and we already know who’s after the Stone, and taking a potion off a fire isn’t any more dangerous than going to class or the library with Snape lurking about.”

The door creaked open. Hermione, closest to the stall they were brewing in, slammed herself inside it with a gasp and did up the lock. Harriet, hand hovering near her wand watched warily as Sally-Anne and Millicent came through.

“It’s just us, Granger,” Millicent called. She was arm deep in her bag, much farther down than the side of it went. “Come out of there before you knock the damn cauldron over.” Harriet snickered, and Millicent said, “Like my Easter present, Tonks?”

Hermione slammed the stall door open. “Sally-Anne, you tell Harriet she shouldn’t be wandering around the halls alone at night!”

Sally-Anne had been loitering outside the door, waiting to poke at the potion. She leapt out of the way and said, “But it’s not like anyone will see her.”

“It’s not like anyone’s seen her, _so far_!”

Millicent snorted. She’d pulled out several broken quills, a bottle of ink, and a stack of books. “She’s not going to very well let one of us take the cloak and go instead.”

Harriet flinched at the thought, and then felt bad. “I _do_ trust all of you,” she said.

“With a priceless heirloom that makes someone undetectable?” Millicent demanded. She wormed herself out of the bag, pulling the long paper free with her. “I wouldn’t trust _Dumbledore_ with that.”

“There’s a lot of things I wouldn’t trust Dumbledore with,” Sally-Anne agreed. “Come on, Hermione. She’s a big girl, well, she’s an older girl—”

“Hey!” Harriet cried.

“—she doesn’t need someone to hold her hand.”

“I don’t like this,” Hermione said. “I suppose I’ll stay behind—Professor McGonagall or one of the prefects catching you out of bed would be terrible—but I still think we should find a better way to do it in the future.”

“We won’t need to do it in the future,” Harriet said. “We’re going to catch Snape—”

“—or whoever’s trying to steal the Stone!”

“ _Anyways_ , thank you, Millicent, we’re going to catch whoever’s after the Stone, and Dora's going to catch whoever tried to knock me off my broom, and then there won’t _be_ any reasons to sneak out of bed unless we get a bit peckish at night.”

“That’s something I’d be willing to get caught for,” Sally-Anne said easily. She was leaning over the cauldron now, staring at the potion. “What is that, slime?”

“Looks more like Oobleck to me,” Harriet said. “It’s even the right color.”

“If you make it start raining this—” Hermione said warningly.

Sally-Anne snickered and poked it with the very tip of her wand, levering off a thick strand. “How long until we can test this?”

Hermione perked up. “It’s really very interesting,” she said. “We _could_ test it now, and it would work perfectly. Or, it should work perfectly, as long as we test it less than ten minutes out of the cauldron. The longer brewing time ensures longevity, both for a stable shelf-life and in application.”

“You hungry, Perks?” Millicent asked. She dug through her bag again and pulled out a chocolate frog.

“Of course you know where that was, but not where the incantation was,” Harriet said.

“Like you don’t have any snacks in your bag,” Millicent said. She tossed the frog to Harriet. “Put that in a stall, would you?

“She doesn’t keep anything to eat,” Hermione said. She was watching as Harriet approached an empty stall and checked it for stray ghosts. “Only growing girls need snacks, and we all know Harriet isn’t one of those.”

“I’m big enough to levitate you into this toilet!” Harriet cried.

“Just do it, Tonks!”

Grumbling, Harriet tucked the chocolate frog on top of the toilet paper holder. “This is gross,” she said. “Sally-Anne, if you actually eat that, you’re gross, too.”

Sally-Anne made a face and let the potion slip back into the cauldron. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve eaten,” she said. “You should see what some people eat after dance practice.”

“She’s going to eat it,” Hermione said. “She has to, otherwise the spell won’t work. Here, Harriet, be careful, it’s hot.”

She’d transfigured a tiny cup from a tile chip. Harriet took it carefully, steam rising from the Oobleck inside, and poured it on the handle of the stall. It really was furiously green. Like a lime that hadn’t particularly enjoyed its life.

She stepped back and they all stared. “It’s, well, quite obvious, isn’t it,” Sally-Anne said nervously.

“Maybe he’ll think the dog sneezed on it.”

“On the outside of the door.”

“Hey,” Harriet said. The Oobleck had started to evaporate in a trail of noxious fumes.

“Well it’s not like we can put it on the inside.”

“Look. Look at the door.”

“They’ll think the dog sneezed on the outside of the locked door, which requires magic to open, not to mention _thumbs_.”

“Look!” Harriet cried. “The Oobleck’s gone!”

“Well,” Millicent said. “Go ahead, Sally-Anne. Take the frog.”

Sally-Anne stared at the stall nervously. “Why does it have to be me?”

“Because you’re the only one who’d eat it later,” Hermione said. “The rest of us know better than to eat things we find in the loo.”

Sally-Anne crept toward the stall and touched the door nervously.

“Is it greasy?” Harriet asked. “Or hot? Or, well—”

“It feels like the handle to a stall,” Sally-Anne said. She poked her head in, and took the chocolate frog.

“Bring it out now,” Hermione said. “So we can try the charm.”

All four of them had been practicing. Harriet had her wand out already, and shouted the incantation nearly the second Sally-Anne came out. She jumped, and fumbled the frog, and Harriet winced back as Sally-Anne’s hands started to glow a bright and brilliant green.

“It works!” Hermione screamed. “It works! Oh, Harriet, it works!”

“Look at the stall,” Harriet said. “It’s green, too. No one’s going to be able and say it means something different.”

Harriet looked over. Sally-Anne was picking at the color on her hands. “This is going to go away, right?” she asked. “Because I don’t want to wear gloves for the rest of my life.”

“Eat the frog!” Millicent said. “It can’t say you stole something that doesn’t exist anymore!”

“We don’t know what’ll happen if you do that,” Harriet said. “Might as well try. If your teeth turn green and glowy, you won’t need a lamp to read at night anymore.”

“Or you could explode!”

“Oh, honestly, Millicent!”

Sally-Anne stuck her tongue out at them and unwrapped the chocolate frog. Hermione was edging closer to Harriet, and gripped her arm. Sally-Anne put the frog in her mouth and chewed.

And chewed. And chewed.

“It’s chocolate, not a rubber ball,” Millicent griped.

Sally-Anne said something completely unintelligible and probably very rude.

Harriet bounced on the balls of her feet. “Come on,” she said. “Stick your tongue out or show us your teeth, or something!”

“You’re all disgusting,” Hermione said, and peeled away to check on the potion.

Sally-Anne stuck her tongue out. It was coated brown, not green. Her teeth were chocolatey, too, and not the slightest bit glowy. Millicent groaned.

And then like a light shutting off, her hands stopped glowing and went all over pale again.

“I told you!” Millicent said. “Look, what if he eats the stone, whoever’s after it?”

" _Eats_ the Stone?"

"Well, we don't know how it works! Maybe he _has_ to eat it."

“It’s been ten minutes,” Hermione said from inside the stall. “It ran out of potency.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Oh, I own a watch, Millicent. And _anyways_ , we know it works now, and after another hours of— _four, six, eight_ —eight hours of brewing, it’ll be full strength.” Hermione stuck her head around the stall door and leveled them all with a glare. “And Harriet can come back and take it off the fire. Tomorrow’s Saturday, we can put it on the door then.”

“Or,” Harriet said, rocking back on her heels, “I can go put it on the door tonight.”

“No!” Hermione said. “Absolutely not!”

“Well it would certainly save some time,” Millicent said. “And when are we most likely to get caught, in the middle of the night or during the hour for lunch?”

“The teachers will be watching the door at night!”

“I’ve been down to the door loads of times and haven’t seen a single teacher,” Harriet said. “Come on, Hermione. Something’s going to happen soon, I can feel it. The quicker we’ve got the stuff on the door the better.”

Hermione chewed on her lip. Sally-Anne swallowed the last of her chocolate with a huge gulp and said, “I think she should just do it tonight.”

“If Sally-Anne thinks it’s a good idea,” Harriet said and waggled her eyebrows.

“Sally-Anne is a menace,” Hermione said.

“Relax, Hermione,” Millicent said. “Nothing bad could possibly happen.”

* * *

The Forbidden Forest blocked out the gleaming stars, like a curtain falling from the sky. A lone owl was perched in the nearest trees, a creamy spot against the velvet dark, and it cried out to them mournfully. Harriet wanted to shout back—the forest was spooky enough during the day. Having to creep between the trees at night with Filch as their guide was unthinkable.

Ron had stopped to stare, his freckles dark on his face and his eyes wide. “Thought he was joking about us going in there,” he said in a trembling whisper. “They can’t actually make us, can they? McGonagall wouldn’t—”

“Professor McGonagall took away a hundred and fifty points,” Harriet said grimly and fished her wand out of her robe pocket. “She’d probably take more if we refused to go.”

“My Gran said there was werewolves in there,” Neville said. He looked like a ghost, his blond hair gone all over grey with shadow.

Harriet bit her lip. Neville's Gran had probably been teasing. Dora had _definitely_ been teasing.

Filch was whistling ahead of them, his lantern casting rocking shadows as he swung in back and forth. “Come on, come on,” he shouted at them. “Hurry up. Can’t be late, oh no.”

“Everyone was lying about the werewolves,” Malfoy said snottily from right behind them. Harriet jumped—she’d forgotten that he was there.

“My father’s on the School Board, he would have told me if there were werewolves.”

“Well you can be the first one in, then,” she snapped. “Since it’s your fault we’re out here anyway.”

“No one _made_ you get out of bed to go hide a dragon, Potter,” Malfoy said. “I’m the one who shouldn’t be here. It’s unfair to punish me with the rest of you. My father’s going to write to the Headmaster—”

“Oh, shut up,” Ron said, looking less like he was going to be sick. “Come on, Neville, Harriet. I’d rather go in there alone than keep listening to _him_.”

Malfoy made a sulky noise, but Ron was already marching ahead, and Harriet ran to keep up.

“Better watch out,” Filch said happily as they trotted along behind him. “All kinds of things in there, all kinds. Puts the old punishments to shame. Why string all of you up by the wrists when a little midnight jaunt would take care of the problem once and for all?” His voice went softer, like he was talking to himself. “Now if only they’d give all those nasty boys detention in the forest, I wouldn’t spend half my time chasing after trouble makers. No more mud on my floors, no more _things_ on the walls…”

Harriet made a face at Neville, and he made one back. “Rather go in there that listen to him, either,” she whispered, and he nodded.

“Look,” Ron said, and grabbed them by the arms. “There’s something under the trees.”

Harriet squinted and laughed before she could help it. “It’s Hagrid,” she said.

“Don’t act too excited,” Filch grumbled, and leered. “You’ll be begging for the corkscrews by the time you come out. _If_ you survive, that is.”

“Here now, none a’ that,” Hagrid said, looking up from the crossbow he was readying. The latch clicked tightly into place, and he swung it up casually. She didn’t think he pointed it at Filch on purpose, but she still grinned when he ducked away.

“I’ll be back to get them in the morning,” he told Hagrid, and scurried away. Like a rat, Harriet thought. Ugly and nasty and _horrible_.

“Strange man,” Hagrid said, and rested his crossbow against his leg, letting it hang from a massive hand. “Alright, Neville, Harriet?”

“I’ve been better,” Neville squeaked, and Hagrid laughed.

“Yer gonna be fine,” he said easily. “Jus’ listen when I’m talkin’, an’ follow directions, and we’ll all get outta there right as rain. Alrigh’?”

“We’re really going in?” Malfoy demanded, squinting furiously at Hagrid. “I thought that man was joking. It’s too dangerous for first years!”

“Now, nothin’ is gonna happen to you long as you’re with me an’ Fang,” Hagrid said easily, his eyes all squinted up as he smiled. “And I could use a keen pair a’ eyes or four. Somethin’s been harrassin’ the unicorns an’ now one a’ them is hurt. We’re gonna find it tonight, see what we can do for it.”

“You can’t be serious,” Malfoy said, sounding horrified. “Something is hurting _unicorns_ and you want a bunch of first years looking for it? I refuse!”

“Then yeh can get back up t’ the castle an’ pack,” Hagrid said firmly. “Yeh ain't gonna make up for messin' about with th' rules, then yeh ain't got a place here. Now, Harriet, Neville, you’ll be with me, and Ron, Malfoy since yer still here, yeh can go with Fang.”

Harriet shot Ron a questioning look. He was almost green, but he swallowed and nodded gamely. “It’s fine,” he said to her shortly, and clapped Neville on the shoulder. “I got us into all of this, didn’t I?”

“Alrigh’,” Hagrid said. “Now, since we’re splittin’ up, yeh can signal with sparks. Green if yeh found the unicorn, red if yer in trouble. Lemme see ‘em, make those taller, lad, good.”

Hagrid showed Ron and Malfoy where to start their trail. It was a worn space between the trees, like a deer path, Harriet thought, and she wondered how unicorns could leave such little trace. Peering into the dark, she was glad Ron was going with Malfoy.

“Go on then,” Hagrid said. “Sooner we get started, sooner we can finish up." He rubbed Fang’s head one last time, and turned into the forest a different way. Harriet thought he was walking more slowly than usual; she and Neville didn’t have to run to keep up.

“So what’re we looking for?” Harriet asked, peering through the dark trees, her wand tip lighting up a little. A bird called out, like nothing she had never heard before, a sharp scream that made her jump and grab for Neville's hand. He grabbed back, their palms sweaty.

“Blood,” Hagrid said, not looking at all bothered. “Here, both of yeh come look.” He squatted down and touched his fingers to a dip in the dirt, a hoof print that was splattered with gleaming silver droplets so small Harriet hadn’t even noticed them. They caught the light at once as Hagrid rubbed them between his fingers and held it out to them. “Unicorn blood looks like tha’, and yeh better look close because I don’t expect yeh to get another chance to see it.”

“My gran says that stuff is cursed,” Neville said, leaning away from it, tugging Harriet a stumbling step back.

Harriet peered at it closely, watching the way it lit up, not at all from the lantern light. It made its own pearly light. “Hagrid,” she said, stomach swooping, “what can even hurt a unicorn? Werewolves?”

“Nothin’ in the forest,” Hagrid said and stood back up. “Werewolves can’t touch them, an’ there aren’t any in this forest anyways, before yeh start with that rot. Unicorns are too fast for mos' beasts to catch. No, somethin’s in here that's got no right to be.”

Loose twigs and dead leaves crackled under their feet as they went further into the path. The thin, dappled light from the moon disappeared, leaving only the lantern and the weak Lumos Harriet had done. “Wouldn’t the unicorn run away if it was hurt?” Harriet asked. “Off the path. Wouldn’t it hide somewhere?” She peered past a clump of bushes into a little clearing, where something white—no, only a drift of half-melted snow still clinging to the ground.

“Nah,” Hagrid said easily. “They know if they get hurt, we’ll be out lookin’ for them.”

“Do you look for creatures in here a lot?” Neville asked, and when Harriet looked over her shoulder at him, his eyes were wide and shining.

“It’s my job, ain’t it?” Hagrid said, embarrassed. “Lookin’ after all the things in here. An’ speakin’ of looking after things, I never did say thank yeh for makin’ sure Norbert got hisself somewhere safe to grow up.” He reached out and rubbed Neville's soft hair into a ruffled mess.

Neville was grinning fit to burst. Harriet scowled a little and looked away, kicking her feet at a clump of rocks. She was still so mad about it! Now getting caught, that was _awful_ , but it wasn’t as bad as missing her chance to meet a dragon. Ron and Neville had known for such a long time, too, and never once told her!

“Here now,” Hagrid said, and motioned them close. “See th’ dirt, how it’s all messed up? Somethin’ scared it, look, it got blood all over tha’ tree trunk.”

People started yelling and shouting beyond them. Harriet leapt in the air and Neville tensed. Light passed across the path and disappeared into the trees, a glint like a faraway ember. Harriet smelled smoke, something skunky that made her sneeze. She looked at Neville, but he looked just as confused as her. “Jus’ centaurs,” Hagrid said soothingly. “Yeh wait here a minute while I go ask them if they’ve seen anythin’.”

He trundled away, taking the lantern with him, until the twists in the path swallowed him up. Harriet made a little squeaking noise without meaning too, and Neville held her hand harder.

“I hope the unicorn’s going to be alright,” he said, his face very pale in the wand light. Harriet swallowed.

“It’s got to be,” she said. “Dora told me, nothing can hurt a unicorn, not badly.”

“Have you ever seen one?” Neville asked, and pushed his fringe out of his face.

“No,” Harriet said. They were whispering. “But I want to, more than anything. They’re supposed to be so beautiful.”

Neville nodded, and his face turned faintly red. Harriet thought he probably wanted to see one, too, even if he was such a boy and wouldn’t say it, but then he got redder, like a light was on him, and she jerked around. There, in the trees! Red sparks.

“Ron,” she cried, and tugged Neville into a shambling run. “Hagrid, we’ve got to tell Hagrid.”

But he was already racing back to them, crossbow up, a shadow without the lantern. “Stay on the path!” he roared. “Yeh stay righ’ there!” And then he was slamming into the trees, breaking low branches, and the forest swallowed him.

Harriet moaned. A thousand thoughts were racing through her head—Ron hurt, Ron _dead_ —and she thought she might be sick.

“He’s fine,” Neville said, breathlessly, clutching her hand so hard it hurt. “He’s fine, he’s got to be. Nobody really gets hurt at Hogwarts, or Gran wouldn’t have let me come.”

They stared at each other, desperate. “We should go after them,” Harriet whispered. “What if Hagrid needs help? What if both of them are hurt, and he can only carry one of them? We can help, we know the Levitation Charm.”

Neville bit his lip. “He said to stay on the path,” he said. And then, “Harriet, look,” in a low hiss. His trembling hand pointed behind her, and she whirled around, wand raised furiously, whatever was there would eat sparks! and froze.

“Are you going to curse me?” the centaur asked curiously. He had Hagrid’s darkened lantern in one hand, and a long spear in the other, the shaft wet and shining red in the light.

Harriet swallowed. “Are, are _you_ going to hurt us?” she asked, edging in front of Neville better.

The centaur looked at her with a blank face, so still that Harriet's heart hammered faster. Then he looked over her shoulder, at Neville for a long time, too. Finally, he said, “Mars is bright tonight.”

There was a noise that Harriet was finding a little familiar, hooves in the soft dirt. Another centaur was drifted up behind the first, this one black-colored where the first was chestnut-red.

“Ronan,” the second centaur called in a low voice. “What have you found?”

“Lion cubs,” Ronan said. Then he flung his head back and looked up, up, up. Harriet kept her wand on him. She wanted to look, too, just to see what he was seeing, but she knew she shouldn't risk it.

Neville was so close up behind here that he bumped into her back. “Should we run?” he whispered in her ear, a hand fisted in the back of her robe. She shook her head, felt her hair brush his face. The centaurs would catch them, even if they ran off the path.

The second centaur was looked at the sky, too. Could they see the stars through the tree branches, Harriet wondered. She glanced up, just for a second, but there was only darkness, and the drifting glimpses of moonlight that didn’t quite make it to the ground. When she looked back, the second centaur was looking at her.

He had a spear, too, with long red feathers hanging from the shaft and brushing over his arm. “Lion-child,” he said. “Where is your companion?”

Harriet thought he sounded disapproving. She drew herself up, furious, and said, “Hagrid had to go. Someone was in trouble. But he’s going to be right back.”

Neville made an anxious noise.

“And so he left two children, unprotected,” the centaur said.

“He didn’t!” Harriet cried. “We can take care of ourselves!”

“Mars is unusually bright tonight,” Ronan said. “Bane, could it be—”

They were both staring again. Harriet shifted miserably, her arm aching from keeping her wand up for so long. The second one, Bane, she guessed, was more dangerous. She trained her wand on him, trying to remember a spell, any spell that Dora had taught her.

He moved, fast, and before she even had time to cry out, grabbed her arm and pulled her up against him. “Let go!” she screeched, struggling, and flinched back as he swept the hair out of her eyes. His were black in the dim light, no pupils, she’d have nightmares about this, she was sure, as he touched the scar on her face, right where it started nearly in her hair.

“The marked one,” he said, and let her go. She jolted away, felt Neville grab her shoulder as she swayed, head swimming. Bane wasn’t even looking at her anymore. “And you, boy? Are you the unmarked one?”

Neville growled and shot off sparks. They fizzed against the centaur’s chest, disappearing like fireflies winking out, and anyways, Bane didn’t even wince.

“Mars’s children, it is true enough,” Bane said easily. He looked like he was going to say something else, when a low noise came through the trees, like nothing Harriet had ever heard before. It was a lion roaring, it was a hawk screaming, it was the furious trumpet of an elephant, it was a sound like an explosion going on and on and on.

Bane moved his grip on the spear. “Take them from the forest,” he told Ronan. “And quickly. We’ve wasted enough time.” He turned, and disappeared down the trail like a ghost.

Ronan sighed. “It is always the innocent that fall prey first,” he said. Not to them, Harriet didn’t think. But to himself. “Follow me closely, war-children, and _hurry_. There is yet—”

“Harry? Neville?” Hagrid shouted, crashing through the brush. Harriet gasped to see him, her whole chest expanding in one huge breath as he thundered onto the path with Ron and Malfoy skulking behind him.

“Hagrid!” Neville cried, and lowered his wand. “You were gone ages!”

“One a’ them knuckleheads decided to run off,” Hagrid grumbled, and turned to the centaur. “Ronan, I was jus’ lookin’ for yeh or one of yer brothers. There’s a unicorn runnin’ around injured, and I was wonderin’ if yeh’d seen anything.”

He looked at Hagrid, and shook his head. “Mars burns,” he said, “but the forest hides many secrets. Safe-guard yourself, Hagrid.” And then he looked past Hagrid, back at Harriet and Neville, and bowed deeply from the waist. And then he was gone, sliding between trees, the redness of his hide fading into dusky grey before Harriet could even blink.

“Centaurs,” Hagrid grumbled. “Can never get a straight answer out a’ them. And Weasleys, apparently can’t trust ‘em t’ take things seriously.”

“I said sorry,” Ron muttered, but dropped his eyes under Hagrid’s steely look.

“Yeh two are gonna have t’ go with Fang,” Hagrid said to Harriet apologetically. “I need t’ keep a closer eye on these troublemakers.”

Fang came over to Harriet and pressed himself against her side. She rubbed his ears and shot a look at Neville, who nodded grimly. “We can do it, Hagrid,” Harriet said.

“Yeh can go off the path jus’ this once, Fang can take yeh back to where the boys were, but once yeh get back on the trail, yeh stay there, understand?” Harriet nodded. “An’ no scarin’ each other for fun or nothin'. I wanna find this unicorn before dawn.”

“You can count on us,” Neville said bravely and lit his wand so brightly it made Harriet blink away stars.

“I know I can,” Hagrid said, picking up the lantern Ronan had left behind. “Yer both a credit t’ yer parents. Fang, _track back_.”

Fang whined, and sprung away from Harriet's hand, nose to the ground. Ron was wincing when Harriet looked back, he frowned at her and mouthed _sorry_. And then she and Neville were in the trees, walking so closely their shoulders brushed. Harriet would have been fine with holding hands again—it wasn’t gross if it was with your brother—but they had to keep their wands out, so that was alright, too.

They didn’t even really need Fang, Harriet thought. Hagrid crashing through had left a bunch of space, and she wondered how much of the path they’d been on before had been made by Hagrid instead of some creature like she thought.

“I wish I could have seen that,” Neville said as they picked their way across a fallen trunk so tall they had to clamber to get over it. “Ron scaring Malfoy.”

“He gets all the fun,” Harriet sighed. “I wonder if I can get Millicent to put something awful in Malfoy's bed.”

“A frog,” Neville said.

“A dead mouse.”

“A picture of Snape, smiling.”

They snickered. The chest-hurting fear Harriet had felt with the centaurs was gone now. She tugged at Neville's arm and said, “Look, Fang’s stopped moving. I bet that’s the path. Good boy, Fang! Good boy!”

Fang whined and wagged his tail, making a fan in the dead leaves littered everywhere.

Harriet straightened up from rubbing his ears and said, “We ought to go look now.” She put her hand over her mouth to catch the yawn. “I’m so tired! Oh, I hope we find the unicorn soon.”

“At least there’s no class tomorrow,” Neville said as they picked their way along the path, swinging their wands around to make sure there weren’t going to trip over something. “Can you imagine falling asleep in Potions?”

“If we lose any more points we’re going to be murdered,” Harriet said. “Look, Neville, is that—”

Shining brilliantly, like starlight you could cup in your palms, there was a puddle of blood in the dirt.

“But Hagrid’s following the trail,” Harriet said. She peered around them, saw the branches broken like the unicorn had crashed right through, like it had ran across the path and into the forest. “It must have run off the path, look. Why would it do that?”

The dirt past the blood was all churned up. Harriet reached out and grabbed Neville's hand.

“We aren’t supposed to leave the trail,” Neville said nervously.

“We have to find it, it’s _hurt_. Hagrid wants us to find it. _He_ thinks we can do it.” She looked at Neville, and after a moment he nodded.

“Come on,” she said. They edged around the puddle and crept further down, into the trees. There were more broken branches, everything reeking of sap, and they got sticky trails of it on their arms and legs as they walked. Fang was pacing behind them on the trail, growling.

“C’mon, Fang,” Harriet hissed, but he just sat down and whined piteously. She patted her thigh and made kissy noises but he wouldn’t move. “He’s too heavy,” she said when pulling on his collar didn’t get her anywhere. “We’ll just have to go without him.”

“I don’t like this,” Neville said. His eyes were very round, glinting strangely. "But if you're sure—”

Harriet reached out and wiped something bright off his arm. It was warm on her fingers and very slick and she held it between them, her breath hitching. They looked at it, then the branches on the brush, coated with silver.

“You should go get Hagrid,” Harriet said in a whisper. “Neville, it’s warm still.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” Neville said. He waited until she wiped her hand off, and grabbed it firmly. They passed through the brush and started picking their way through the knotted roots of the trees. It was very easy, Harriet thought, because all they had to do was follow the blood now. And there was so very much of it.

It was _everywhere_ , on the tree trunks and on the brush and on the ground, and she kept looking at Neville and seeing it on his clothes. It was on her robes, too, she was sure of it, and her stomach clenched painfully.

And then something screamed, loud and shrill, and Harriet jerked. It was a horrible sound and she was running before she knew it, Neville stumbling along beside her and the both of them cried out as they crashed down a short hill into a hollow that seemed spun in diamonds and stars.

xxx

The unicorn was on its knees in the middle of it, huge head bobbing frantically as it tried to heave itself to its feet. It was enormous, beautiful, horrifying, bigger than her even when it was laying down like it was. It was so stunning her breath went away, and she felt sick with dizziness when she looked closely at where it was hurt. Its side was torn open and blood was leaking across the pretty pearl and cloud dapples. The unicorn rolled enormous eyes at her, groaning low in its chest, pained. 

She was going to be sick. How could it be hurt? It was made of light, light couldn’t be cut, couldn’t be torn, couldn’t bleed in shining splashes all over the ground as it flinched and called to her, eyes big liquid pools of shine.

Harriet moaned, “Oh, oh,” and dropped her wand as she went.

That luminescent blood ran between her fingers, over her hands as she put her palms to the horrible tear—that sickly grey mouth in the smooth coat—and she was weeping, trying to close it with her touch. “No,” she whined. “No, no.” It stank like flowers, it was all she could smell, suffocating, her head was aching fit to split open, and it was so hot, like it was burning her, and it had to close up, it had to, nothing so beautiful and good should ever be hurt this way.

“Please,” she wept. “Please,” and the unicorn whined out a shallow breath, sliding down, lying on its side, its ribs heaving and she followed helplessly. Her robes clung wetly to her skin, there was _so much_ blood, impossible honeysuckle and rose in every choked breath. “Neville,” she cried. “Neville, help me.”

And then something took her shoulder, tried to pull her away and she screamed and hit it, furious, desperate, she couldn’t leave the unicorn, it was so very hurt, and it was Neville, grabbing her arms, pulling her, and the unicorn was sighing again, it was leaving her, it couldn’t _leave_ , and Neville moaned, “Something’s here, something’s here.”

And her head hurt so much, pounded against her skull, and she wanted to curl up in the dirt and sleep for a million years, and Neville was dragging her, whining, “Don’t look, don’t look at it,” but it was too late, she turned her head and _saw_.

It was shaped so wrong it made her shudder, drooling gleaming strands of unicorn blood and spit dripping out from below the hooded face, and its back was humped up, moving up and down fast as it forced out heavy breaths and its front feet were _hands_ and it crawled at her and its back feet were _backwards_ , its knees moving like they were broken and she fell back into the dirt, screaming furiously as her face split up, something hot dripping down, thicker than tears, plunking off her nose, her chin, it had been _drinking_ —

How could it—

How could such an evil thing—

It was crawling closer, mouth a slick gash in its face, opening wide and wider, a black hole in its ruined face, and it reached for her, where was her wand, everything was blurring, burning, where—

Someone was screaming, the unicorn was screaming, and it heaved itself up, snaking its head furious, bellowing, and thrashed as it gored the thing, stabbed through with that long and deadly horn, and threw it away, the body flying like a rag doll into a tree with a sickening crack.

Harriet scrambled to her feet, staring hugely, and Neville was grabbing her shoulder again, tugging her back and back into a curled crouch because the thing was getting up again, walking jerkily on backwards legs, and it reached for the unicorn, who reared and struck with its front legs at it, and the thing had a wand, and it shouted something and the unicorn stumbled back with a wail and Harriet was going to be sick, the flesh along its chest, along its side, she could see its ribs, _as beautifully white and gleaming as its blood_ as it fell over backwards and lay panting in the dirt.

And then there was a roar like a thousand lions, right behind them, and things were leaping over them in the dark, smooth bellies and huge hooves and hitching hocks that cleared their heads easily, centaurs, flashing grey and black and red and gold in the glow of the blood and the torches and the thing was turning, falling onto four legs and running with a hiss and the centaurs were going after it, blasting the same enormous horn and throwing deadly spears.

The unicorn heaved another groaning breath—alive, it was still alive!— and Harriet tore away from Neville to go to it. Her whole face was wet, it was so very hard to breathe, she put her hands on the thick neck and petted it, sobbing. It rolled its eye to look at her and she said, trembling, “Shh, shh.”

Neville could send up sparks and Hagrid would come, he would fix this, he would. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered. “You’ll be just fine.”

“Bane,” one of the centaurs said, and she felt his big, heavy hand rest on her shoulder.

“Come away, lion-child,” the centaur said. She was weeping too hard to argue. He pulled her up and back, tried to turn her away, saying firmly, “Don’t look,” but he wasn’t fast enough and she screamed as the wicked spear flashed in the air—those red feathers floating like rose petals drifting on water—the tip the barest gleam—and the unicorn jerked.

And it stilled.

The spear in its neck like an accusation, just _sticking there_.

Sound disappeared. The world wavered, grey and silver and red trembling into smears, and then she was being crushed against a shoulder, a big hand on her back. She jerked away, trying to fight, she _hated_ him! _She hated him!_

Something was whistling very far away, she thrashed, she wanted her mum, she wanted Dora, the world was horrible, awful, she wanted to go _home_.

And then she was being slapped, hard, it ached, and she slumped, panting. Her glasses were crooked, half the world in dangerous blurs. Everything was freckled crimson. Sound came back in waves as Bane said, “Enough. Enough! It is done.”

“You didn’t have to,” Harriet gasped, gagged. “You didn’t, you didn’t, please.”

“She could not have survived,” the centaur holding her said. "Better to end her suffering. The defilement would have killed her much slower." He was wiping at her face with a rough, red hand, pressing against her scar, looking at it sharply. His blue eyes were flecked impossibly with red, all of him was, there was blood all over her glasses, and someone was weeping still, little jagged cries.

Neville, she thought tiredly. How could she have forgotten about Neville? Everything was going too quickly, then too slowly. It was like pushing through taffy as she tore away from the centaur and stumbled to Neville. He was looking at the unicorn, those legs lying skewed, the _tongue hanging out its mouth_ and she made him turn around before she was sick, starting to cry again herself. They held each other like they were little kids, trembling.

xxx

“It’s dead,” he cried, holding her hands so hard it hurt. “They _killed_ it.”

The horn shouted fiercely in the distance, two huge bellows. “They must be removed from here,” Bane said from far away. “And swiftly. Take them, Firenze, and then return to the hunt.”

Firenze sighed and moved to them. “It’s over now,” he said soothingly, but Neville only cried harder and Harriet looked at him blankly. Over? How would it ever be over? She saw the unicorn when she closed her eyes, saw the big grey body against the shadows of the trees, saw it in the impossibly starry sky when she looked up and up and up. Was Mars still bright? Had the centaurs _known_ this was going to happen?

Firenze knelt carefully. He didn’t have a spear or a torch. “We must go,” he said. “The creature is still in the forest. I cannot promise that the hunt will find it. Can you ride?” he asked Harriet and Bane made an angry noise.

“You think to debase yourself for them? To act as though you're a common mule?” he growled, but Firenze didn’t get angry, just looked at him.

“I think to set myself against the creature we hunt,” he said calmly. “To plague it, to fight it, to kill it! To protect those precious things it seeks to destroy.” He stamped a hoof, his tail flicking. “Let it not be said I did any less than she who gave her life.”

Bane sucked in a breath. “This is a dangerous path,” he said lowly. “Think on this, Firenze! To hunt it while it dwells in our home is one matter, to do what you propose is another. We are only to consider what is foretold. Our task is set to _read_ it. We must have no part in the coming of it.”

“Mars is bright,” Firenze said. “Mars _burns_. I have seen what is foretold and I will die before I let it come to pass.”

They stared at each other a long moment, then Bane came over, passing Firenze his spear. Those feathers flashed again, like rubies. And then he picked Neville up like he weighed nothing, and put him on Firenze’s back. But when he turned to Harriet, she backed away.

“We can’t just _leave_ her here,” she said, chin trembling. "On the ground like that, like she's rubbish." It was too horrible to bear. She couldn’t look at her anymore but she couldn’t leave her either.

“Harriet, please,” Neville said, his face white. “Please, I want to leave.”

“She _died_ for us,” Harriet said, feeling tears threaten again. “I can’t leave her here. Please.”

Bane looked at her coldly, then bent and picked something up. It was her wand, speckling with a glowing silver whose light was already dying, flickering out like fireflies. He handed it to her and she held it stiffy. What use was a wand if it couldn’t save the unicorn? _It_ had used a wand to kill her, and Harriet shoved it frantically in her pocket. She never wanted to see a wand again.

Bane was still staring, but his eyes were softer now.

He put a hand on her head. “She will be buried with all honor,” he said. And then he put Harriet on Firenze’s back, too, and she clung to Neville, the drying blood tacky between them. “She will not be left alone,” Bane said. “Go.”

When she looked back, swaying with the movement of Firenze running, she could just barely see the little hollow between the trees. Bane had put out his torch, and darkness was gathering there behind him as those splashed silver lights gave out one by one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ////crawls out of a huge mud pit three months later brandishing this hot mess. intrigue! creepy mirrors! toilet food! rock'em sock'em unicorns! 
> 
> so yeah, didn't abandon this! just lost my writing ganas for a little while. but i'm back with every intention of finishing this! thanks to everyone who liked and commented in the interim--i've been hording those comments as inspiration to finish this chapter and will now get around to answering them. you guys are the best <33333
> 
> summary: harriet and neville find the unicorn, injured but still alive. unfortunately, quirrelmort is also there, and the unicorn is grievously injured defending the children from him. the centaurs arrive, chasing off quirrelmort, and they are forced to put the unicorn down. the children watch this happen and don't respond well.

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically an incredibly self indulgent look at harry potter if harry had been lily's _daughter_ and how that would have affected the world. it's an ode to female friendship and everything that could ever be. goddamn you j.k. rowling for not telling us anything interesting about lily evans, brightest witch of her year, and the life she must have lived outside her husband and her child.
> 
> I'm available [here](http://half-a-league.tumblr.com/) at my tumblr. or at my [ magic world aesthetics blog](http://spindle-and-distaff.tumblr.com/)


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